


If We Had More Time

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after Prisoner of Azkaban, Anal Sex, Azkaban, Eventual Snarry, Frottage, Heterosexuality (not Harry), Homosexuality, Increasingly Dark Harry, Increasingly Dark Hermione, M/M, Oral Sex, Snarry Final Pairing, Tags May Change, Time-Turners, Top Harry, Work In Progress, fast pacing, slight ron bashing, unfinished work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the existence of time-turners, Harry and Hermione conspire to always have one on hand, a fact that will change much as events unfold.</p><p>WARNING: This is a W.I.P.  It is not completed and it may never be finished or even continued.  READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money from this or any other fanfiction.

**9 June 1994**

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry whispered.  “Hermione!” he hissed louder when there was no response.

“Hmn?” she hummed, and then he heard her yawn.  “Harry?  Is something wrong?”

“What?  No.  I just thought of something.”

“You thought of something?  Harry, it’s…” there was a pause and Harry saw her blurry, shadowed form move.  “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Harry.”

“Really?  Sorry,” he grimaced.  “I couldn’t sleep, and I was just thinking…  McGonagall really gave you that time-turner so that you could take extra classes?”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah.  Harry, I thought we went over all this hours ago…”

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, trying to keep himself calm.  “That thing lets you go back in time!  It’s…  We…!  Hermione, you do understand that, if not for that time-turner, Sirius would have died tonight.  Hell, _I_ would have died tonight!”

“…okay…  Harry, I know all of this.  Can we talk about it in the morning?”

Harry sighed expressively, “Hermione, are you even listening to me?!  Maybe this is one of those wizard things that just don’t translate for me, but you’re using a time machine – however limited – to take extra classes!  Is it just me, or does that seem a little bit like using a nuclear bomb to demolish a house?!”

“Okay, Harry,” she said cautiously and her silhouette moved to sit up.  “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m a little worried about what you’re suggesting.  Harry, terrible things happen to wizards who meddle in time…”

“Yeah, I’ve got that so far,” Harry snapped irritably.  “Terrible things like saving my life and my godfather’s life.”

“Har-“

“Look, I get the point that it’s dangerous, but my point is that the fact that it’s dangerous doesn’t stop it from being really useful.  I mean…  I’ve almost died at least once every year at Hogwarts.  This year, I _would_ have died if we hadn’t gone back in time.  What if…?  What happens when something tries to kill me again next year?  Or what if it’s you or Ron or… or _Dumbledore_!?  Hermione, what if someone had a time-turner the night that my parents died?!  I’m not saying that we should use it to fix every little problem, but…”

“Okay, Harry,” she sighed.  “I understand what you’re saying.  I…  I wasn’t really planning on using it again next year.  It was… exhausting, trying to take so many classes this year.  I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Hermione, if you can keep that time-turner, I’ll help you study.  I’ll even take more classes myself.”  Despite the darkness, Harry could see her perk up at his offer to take more classes.

“Really?  Well… okay, but Harry, you really have to take your classes seriously, okay?  I was told that I wouldn’t be able to keep the time-turner and the extra classes unless I kept at least an E average in _all_ of the classes, and I know you haven’t managed that in Divination or Potions…”

“There’s a _reason_ I haven’t kept up better in potions,” Harry argued.  “Snape grades me unfairly…”

“So study harder!” she snapped.  “Honestly, I don’t understand you at all.  Snape acts like a ten-year-old, and you act immature right back!  You want to know what would _really_ prove that you’re better than Snape, Harry?  Be the adult between you.  Don’t rise to his bait!  Prove that you’re not the idiot he accuses you of being.  Honestly, if you didn’t lose your temper, he would look like a complete fool for attacking you unfairly all the time.”

Harry bit down on the urge to start ranting about Snape and the unfairness of it all.  Truthfully, he knew that life wasn’t fair.  He’d never have had to live with the Dursleys if his life was any kind of fair.  His parents wouldn’t have been murdered if his life was fair.  He wouldn’t be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived if his life was fair…  He’d just gotten his hopes up that the wizarding world would be different, and Snape had been a rude awakening that it wasn’t.  He should have figured out by now that Snape was _not_ the only thing wrong with the wizarding world.  “You’re right,” he managed to growl after a minute.  He didn’t want to be the adult, damn it!  He was thirteen!  Snape was _supposed_ to be the adult!

But Hermione did make a good point.

“I _am_?”

Harry laughed at the perfect shock in her voice.  “You’re right,” he sighed more easily this time.  “It is time I grew up a bit.  Seems pretty certain I’m gonna get killed if I don’t.”

* * *

 

**24 August 1994**

The kitchen was eerily silent while Mr. Weasley tried to figure out how to _not_ tell his wife about the Ton-Tongue Toffee incident after putting his foot in it.  The appearance of Hermione and Ginny in the doorway was a welcome distraction that Harry eagerly latched onto.  “Hermione!” he crowed excitedly, stepping forward to give her a quick, awkward hug.  Harry still wasn’t very good at hugging, but he _really_ wanted out of that kitchen.  “Are you busy now?  I was really excited to have you look at my potions’ essay.  I know that I’ve messed it up, but I can’t be sure exactly where…” he trailed off as he led her hastily up the stairs toward Ginny’s room where he imagined her homework would be.  He ignored the wolf-whistles the twins sent after him.

“Harry, what…?” Hermione asked uncertainly as he all but shoved her into Ginny’s room.  None of the redheads seemed to have followed them.

He shook his head quickly, “Sorry.  There was about to be a row, and I…”

“FRED, GEORGE!  WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?” radiated up from below.

“See?” Harry said, pointing in the direction of Mrs. Weasley’s strident voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes and moved to sit on her bed.  “What _did_ they do?”

Harry sighed tiredly and sat next to her.  “Gave my cousin some prank candy that made his tongue grow four feet long.”

She grimaced.

“Anyway!” he said cheerfully.  “I… ah…  I guess I don’t actually have my essay with me at the moment.  It’s still in my trunk.”

She gave him a fondly exasperated look.  “Oh, Harry.  Well, that’s fine.  Here, I’ll show you that book that I was talking about.”  She dragged her trunk out from under the bed and opened it.

Harry blinked and frowned at the interior of the trunk.  He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but it hadn’t changed.  “Um, Hermione…”

“Hm?” she asked distractedly as she shifted a stack of books so that she could read the spines.

“I assume your trunk is _supposed_ to be…”

“What?” she glanced over her shoulder to see him gesturing vaguely toward her trunk.  She looked at it again, then grinned.  “Oh, yeah.  Neat, huh?  It’s an Undetectable Extension Charm.  It’s NEWT level charms, honestly, but I managed to figure it out a couple weeks before the end of last term.  I had to, really.  I’d managed to buy so many books in Hogsmeade throughout the year that I couldn’t fit them all into my trunk to take them home…” she blushed faintly.

Harry stared at her in amazement.

“It’s not that hard, Harry,” she chastised.  “Honestly, you learned to cast the Patronus Charm last year, and that’s beyond NEWT level.  Only Aurors, Charms Masters, and people in certain specialized careers even learn that spell, and most of them never manage a fully corporeal patronus like you did…”

“Okay, Hermione,” Harry interrupted, trying to mitigate his blush.  “I get it.”

She grinned at him and turned back to her trunk.  “The Undetectable Extension Charm is really useful.  I’ll teach it to you this year.”

“Okay,” he allowed, since he didn’t want her to start talking about anything else amazing that he’d done.

“Now, you did read all of the books I sent you, right?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded dutifully.  Honestly, he’d been very grateful for the distraction.  If not for all the extra homework she’d assigned him, he’d have probably spent most of the last two months just thinking about how much he wished he was with Sirius and berating himself for letting Pettigrew escape – or thinking about his extra creepy dreams lately.  As part of their deal at the end of last year, Harry had a _lot_ of academic catching up to do, and Hermione was determined to see him do it.

“Good,” she said decisively as she extracted a book from the depths of her trunk.  “Read this one, too.”

Harry accepted the book and opened it, scanning through the introduction curiously.  He’d been quite shocked this summer to discover that learning wasn’t as hard as he’d let himself believe since starting Hogwarts.  Of course, having almost literally nothing else to do all summer probably helped him to focus and not get distracted like he tended to do at Hogwarts with Quidditch and exploding snap and everything else that came with living in a dorm.

There was a knock on the door and Harry looked up just in time to see Bill peer in cautiously.  His brow rose as he looked between Harry and Hermione.  "Wow,” he grinned.  “You two actually _are_ talking about homework.”

“What else would we be talking about?” Hermione frowned.

Bill coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.  “No idea,” he grinned.  “Mum wanted you two down to help get things set for dinner.  Either that, or she wanted to make sure that you weren’t conceiving any future generations up here, but I’m not reading into it,” he flashed them a wink and then he was gone.

Harry blinked and looked at Hermione as he slowly processed Bill’s meaning.  Then he instantly felt his face turn what he was sure was a shade of red to match what Hermione’s was currently turning.  “Why would they think that?” he finally managed, his voice a bit higher than was strictly manly.

She shook her head and was clearly trying to pretend that she wasn’t as embarrassed as her coloring suggested.  “I suppose it may have looked a bit suspicious, us disappearing so quickly like that… especially with homework as the reason.  From me, that wouldn’t be surprising…”

Harry sighed, “Yeah, I guess they’re not used to that from me, yet.”

Hermione smiled at the “yet”.  “Well, we should probably get down there…”

“Right,” Harry nodded.  “I’ll just run up and put this in Ron’s room,” he indicated the book, and made haste up the stairs while Hermione headed down.  He really could not imagine how anyone could think that he and Hermione…  Well, she was a girl, obviously.  And he supposed she was pretty enough.  But she was _Hermione_!  She was like a sister to him.  He didn’t think of her like _that_!

* * *

 

**26 August 1994**

“Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry,” Ron urged.  “Come on – three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play…  You can try out the Wronski Feint…”

“Ron,” Hermione said tightly.  “Harry doesn’t want to play Quidditch right now…  He’s worried, and he’s tired…  We all need to go to bed…”

Harry looked between them and he nearly took Ron up on the offer.  Forgetting about everything and just playing some Quidditch did sound rather nice.  But…  He sighed and shook his head, “Thanks, Ron, but I think Hermione’s right.  I’m just gonna read a little bit and take a nap, I think.”  He picked up the latest book that Hermione had given him.  It was about Potions, and pretty much the last thing he wanted to read about at the moment.  But it was part of The Plan.  And it was a _good_ plan.  He knew that it was.  He needed the time-turner.  He needed to learn more spells.  He was sick and tired of being helpless.  Avoidance might be a really nice thing, but it was going to get someone killed one of these days.

Hermione smiled proudly when he picked up the book.  Ron deflated at the words “Hermione’s right” and looked at Harry like he was mad when he mentioned reading.  Harry could relate.  Sometimes he wondered if he was mad, too.  Then he thought about nearly being murdered by Quirrell/Voldemort in first year.  About Ginny almost dying and that minute when he’d honestly believed that he was about to die after the basilisk bit him in second year.  About being surrounded by a hundred dementors and utterly helpless until he’d gone back in time and saved himself.  He thought about his dream and about the Dark Mark burning in the sky.  About that ominous voice casting the Mark in the sky – with _his_ wand…

Voldemort was going to come back.  No matter how much he wished it wasn’t so, he knew that it was.  The way he saw it, he could have maybe a couple years of fun and relaxation in between things trying to kill him until one of them succeeded – probably before he ever turned seventeen.  _Or_ he could devote himself completely to learning and to keeping his hands on a time-turner as often as possible, and he could maybe actually live until Voldemort was dead for good and then he could really have a real life.

Maybe.

If he didn’t try, he knew that there would come a point some day when someone that he loved was killed, and if it was his fault because he didn’t study more or because he didn’t have a time-turner…  He couldn’t even imagine how he’d live with that knowledge.

Ron left to try to get a Quidditch game going without Harry.  Hermione left to go take a nap herself.  Harry opened the book with a sigh and started reading.

* * *

 

**1 September 1994**

“Slave labor,” said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose.  “That’s what made this dinner.  Slave labor.”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed, pausing when she turned a murderous glare on him.  “Look, I don’t think Hogwarts’ elves are treated like Dobby or Winky, okay?” he said reasonably.  “I mean… Dumbledore seemed happy when I freed Dobby, so there’s no way he’d condone that treatment…”

“They’re still slaves, Harry,” she bit out, managing to make it sound like the entire institution of enslaving house-elves must have been Harry’s idea.

“I didn’t say they’re not!” he protested.  “But, Hermione…” he tried to be reasonable.  Hermione was a fairly logical person.  Surely if he could think up a logical reason, she’d respond.  “Well, what’s your plan then?  Are you dropping out of Hogwarts or are you going to demand meals made by a human, because Hogwarts isn’t going to just fire all the house-elves and hire human cooks because one student…”

“Fire them?!” Hermione snapped.  “ _Free_ them!”

“Right,” Harry nodded.  “Like Winky got freed.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again with a frown.  “Mr. Crouch was really mean…”

“There’s a lot we don’t understand about house-elves,” Harry reasoned, excited that he seemed to be making progress.

“I suppose…” she said slowly.  “But that doesn’t mean-”

“I didn’t say that it does,” Harry interjected quickly, not exactly sure what she’d been about to say, but certain that he didn’t want her to think he meant it.  “Look at it this way, you’re not hurting anyone by eating here just as you have been for three years.  Just eat your dinner and we’ll do some research into house-elves as soon as we can, okay?”

She huffed a sigh and stared mutinously at her food for a moment before she went back to eating.  She was pouting and unenthusiastic about it, but she was eating.

Harry contained a relieved sigh.  He didn’t believe that it was right to keep house-elves as slaves either, having essentially been one before coming to Hogwarts.  He did not, however, think that he was going to be able to change the way the whole wizarding world had worked for hundreds of years just because he didn’t like it.  And he was the “Boy-Who-Lived”, he thought irritably.  If he couldn’t change them, no one could.  Of course, he didn’t think for a second that Hermione was going to give up her crusade based on that simple logic.

At least they had their time-turners.  McGonagall had taken them aside as soon as they’d got to the school to give Hermione her time-turner back and give one to Harry as well.  He didn’t think that his Head of House was very happy about the situation, since he had to quit Quidditch – Ron didn’t know that yet, thankfully – but Harry wouldn’t be talked out of it.  He wasn’t allowed to use the time-turner in order to attend Quidditch practice, so he’d had to drop the game in order to qualify.  That had stung quite a bit, but McGonagall had let it go more easily than he’d have thought.  He loved Quidditch, but he loved his friends more.  He wouldn’t let any of them get killed because he wanted to play a game.  No way.  And he’d still find time to play or at least have a fly every now and then.  Assuming, of course, that any of the Quidditch fans in Gryffindor were still talking to him after they found out he quit…

Dumbledore drew the room’s attention to him as he rose to give his start-of-year speech, and Harry tried not to think about the row that he knew was coming when he told Ron that he’d quit the team.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Interhouse Quidditch Cup will not take place this year…”

Harry contained a sigh of relief as Ron practically screamed his indignation along with the rest of the team and quite a few other people.

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October and continuing throughout the rest of the school year and taking up quite a lot of the teacher’s attention – but I’m sure you will all enjoy it immensely…”

“They’re not stopping me entering!” Fred said stubbornly, scowling at the head table immediately after Dumbledore’s speech.  “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally.  And a thousand Galleons prize money!”

“Yeah,” Ron said, a faraway look on his face.  “Yeah, a thousand Galleons…”

Harry gaped at his friend.  “Ron, you heard what he said about the _death toll_?  A thousand galleons isn’t going to do you any good if you’re dead!”  Harry couldn’t believe than Ron would really be willing to risk his life for money!

Ron sent him a glare that shocked Harry for its venom, “That’s easy for you to say, Harry.  You’re _rich_!”

Harry froze in the middle of the corridor, astounded by what Ron had said, and unsure if he was more hurt or angry.

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped.  “Could you be any _less_ sensitive?!”

“What?!” Ron demanded angrily.  “He _is_!”

“Whatever,” Harry muttered sullenly and started passed them toward Gryffindor Tower.  “It doesn’t matter anyway, since none of us are of age.”

Harry made it up to the dorms without saying another word to Ron or Hermione and he didn’t bother changing into pajamas.  He just shucked his shoes and closed the curtains around his bed, spelling them closed and silenced, as every boy in the dorm had been taught at the beginning of second year by a fifth year prefect.  Given some of the… noises he’d heard when one of the others forgot the silencing charm once or twice, he was glad they all had them.  Personally, he mostly used it to keep his nightmares to himself.  He usually woke silently after years of the Dursleys beating it into his head not to wake them with his screaming, but he did sometimes call out in his sleep, as his dorm-mates had informed him his first year.

Harry hugged his knees against his chest and pressed his face into his knees.  He didn’t cry.  He never did.  Not since he was really little.  He almost felt like he could though.  Ron had no idea what Harry would give to switch places with him.  Who cared about galleons or brooms or robes or any of that?  Ron had a family that loved him.

* * *

 

**18 September 1994**

Fourth year had easily been the most exhausting year yet, and they were barely three weeks into term.  Harry was officially taking more classes than Hermione, and he now sympathized completely with her desire to drop the extra classes at the end of third year.  Unlike Hermione, Harry was taking Divination, which remained as useless as ever.  Harry had given serious consideration to just dropping the class, and he would have if he hadn’t known that Ron would never forgive him.  Between their little row after the feast and Harry’s new insane study habits, Ron wasn’t very happy with him most of the time as it was.  At least he’d avoided the topic of dropping Quidditch completely thanks to the tournament.

Harry was also taking third year Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.  Somehow he’d ended up paired with a barmy Ravenclaw in both classes.  Mostly that was because everyone else had a friend to partner with and Harry hadn’t because he was out of his year and neither Ginny nor Colin were taking those classes – not that he’d have been that eager to partner with either of them…  Actually, there wasn’t a single Gryffindor in either of those classes – besides him.  He was in third year Muggle Studies as well – again, paired with the same Ravenclaw girl.  Luna Lovegood was a very strange girl, but Harry kind of liked her.  She didn’t seem to exist on the same plane as everyone else.  For Harry, that meant that she seemed utterly unconcerned about him being the Boy-Who-Lived beyond a single declaration of his identity upon first meeting him.  Since then, she may have forgotten that he was famous.  That was _much_ better than Colin, who could never stop talking about Harry or Ginny, who was virtually incapable of talking to him at all. 

The first potions lesson had gone pretty much like every other potions lesson in Harry’s Hogwarts career.  Snape had provoked him and he had responded furiously.  Hermione had yelled at him afterward about his promises at the end of last year.  He’d really meant them, but Snape was just _impossible_ to ignore!  He pushed every single one of Harry’s buttons, and he did it _intentionally_!  He didn’t even try to _pretend_ that he wasn’t being unfair.

So, Hermione, genius that she was, had come up with what she called a Behavioral Adjustor.  He called it a Happy Bracelet.  It was a simple silver bracelet that fit snug around his wrist under his sleeve.  With his help, Hermione had carved runes into the bracelet to enchant it.  Now, whenever his temper started to rise to a certain level it hit him with a cheering charm – and getting it set right had made for a very interesting weekend…  So instead of struggling to avoid yelling back at Snape in class, Harry spent a lot of effort trying not to snicker in the face of his worst insults.  It had been weird at first, but after a couple weeks – it worked wonders against Malfoy as well – he’d decided that it was the best invention ever invented.  His temper had totally mellowed out.  Oh, he still got annoyed, but that pointless rage that he used to feel whenever he thought about Snape or Malfoy was just a memory now.  Instead, he left confrontations with them grinning like a loon.

Okay, so admittedly, most of the Slytherins in particular seemed to be questioning his sanity, but with how much of his life he spent feeling stressed about one thing or another, it felt really good to be able to brush off the little things.

And on top of all of those classes and maintaining their E average, Harry and Hermione were also devoting a lot of time to extracurricular research.  Namely house-elves and time travel.  Hermione could not let the house-elf thing go.  Since Harry didn’t fancy having her loathe him, he was being a good friend and helping her out.  He’d mostly been able to keep her from going too crazy with it, but they did spend all of their extra meals – the ones when they’d used their time-turners – in the kitchens interviewing house-elves.  Hermione tended to be a little too blunt for the poor creatures – they’d nearly been kicked out when she’d asked if they wanted to be free – so Harry now read through and pre-approved all of her questions before speaking to the house-elves.

Studying time travel was Harry’s idea.  It seemed to him that if they were going to be “meddling with time” as Hermione called it, then they should know what they were about.  Hermione had congratulated him on being responsible when he’d first brought that up.  Harry had just nodded sagely and allowed her to believe that.  Personally, he’d been more thinking about being able to manipulate the timeline more effectively if they knew all of their limits.  Sometimes, his more Slytherin tendencies made him uncomfortable.

Despite the _long_ days, Harry was remembering more and more a time when he’d enjoyed studying.  It was back before the Dursleys had properly impressed upon him that Freaks had no business knowing anything or being in any way better than “normal” people.  Harry hadn’t even realized that his aversion to academia came from them until studying with Hermione had started to shake it.  It wasn’t that he took some perverse pleasure in studying and researching the way that Hermione seemed to do.  It wasn’t even that he liked to know more than other people so that he could prove he was smart, as Hermione seemed to.  No, Harry just loved _learning_.  He loved knowing things.  He loved understanding things and not always feeling like the idiot the Dursleys had wanted him to be.

Harry ducked into an alcove near the Defense classroom and checked his watch as he pulled out his time-turner.  That looked just about right.  Four turns, and…

The world blurred, and then he heard the clatter of students moving around in the corridor.  He tucked the turner away and checked the time again, then peered around the statue he was hiding behind.  Should be any second now…

“…what do you think we’re studying today?  The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had this class this morning, and they were…”  Hermione’s voice chattered as they came around the corner.  Harry saw himself from about four hours ago was trailing behind Ron and Hermione and checking his watch.  Then he lifted his eyes and looked directly at Harry, just as he remembered doing four hours ago.  He gave a crooked smirk and glanced at Ron and Hermione to make sure they weren’t looking, then darted into a secret passage behind a tapestry.

Harry waited a few seconds for his friends to pass his hiding place, then slipped out behind them and fell into step.

“Did you notice?” Hermione asked, glancing back at him.

“Well, I think we’re about to find out,” Harry shrugged as they reached the Defense classroom.

“Oh, I suppose,” Hermione frowned thoughtfully, then turned the frown on Harry suspiciously.  Her eyes raked down him and back up again and he knew that she’d picked out some minute difference that she couldn’t place.  Maybe he’d opened one more button on his shirt or loosened his tie – something that had changed in the last few seconds as far as she was concerned.  When you knew that someone had a time-turner, you tended to be alert for little changes like that, Harry had noticed.  He could almost always tell if Hermione had turned. 

She gave him a knowing look but refrained from commenting as they weren’t alone.  Ron knew about their turners, of course – couldn’t really hide it from him even if they wanted to after he’d found out about Hermione’s last year.  The corridor was hardly a safe place to mention it though, even if there hadn’t been other students around.

Harry and Hermione didn’t have exactly the same schedules, so they often turned separately, but they usually always turned together for extra study time in the evenings.  Hermione had argued against that in the beginning, since they were only supposed to use the turners to get to classes that took place at the same time, but Harry had argued that it only made sense to use the turners to get extra time to study for the extra classes, not to mention to eat and sleep extra since their days were longer.  They had had a bit of a row about that at first, but he’d eventually convinced her by appealing to her logic.  Really, she was almost scary easy to manipulate once you knew how to go about it.

And yes, Harry did feel dreadful for manipulating his friend, and he never used it against her in any way that would hurt her.  Sometimes she was a little crazy though, between trying to follow all the rules, crusade for creature rights, and be the world’s biggest genius…  She needed his help to be more sane and reasonable.  He was just being helpful.  Yeah.  Helpful.

The glare that he was getting at the moment was undoubtedly due to the fact that she knew his schedule, and he didn’t have any other classes at the moment.  He’d taken the extra four hours to work on a side project of his that she didn’t know about just yet.  He wanted to wait until it bore fruit before sharing or he’d just get a lecture that he didn’t need.

Blessedly, she had no opportunity to berate him at the moment.  He wished he could believe that she’d have forgotten about it later, but he knew she wouldn’t.

Hermione immediately began arguing the legality of the lesson when they were told that they’d each be subjected to the Imperius Curse.  Harry had actually known that already.  He’d run into Neville just after dinner and the other boy had told him how impressed he’d been that Harry hadn’t been affected by the Imperius Curse.  Harry had used his smile and nod technique to get through that conversation without revealing his ignorance, but he’d managed to gather that that had been the lesson – he’d been worried for a minute that he’d been attacked.  He was rather impressed with himself for that, too.  Of course, as he’d learned last year, knowing that he could do something because he’d already done it made a huge difference.

Harry became more impressed with himself as he watched all of his classmates put under the curse and unable to put up any fight at all against it.

“Potter.  You next,” Moody finally growled.

Harry got up, feeling both nervous to find out what this would feel like, and excited to see how he’d do it.

_“Imperio!_ ”

It was the most wonderful feeling.  Harry was floating in a blissful bubble of relaxed happiness.  Every worry he’d ever had in his life was gone.  Nothing really mattered.

Except…  Of _course_ things mattered, he mentally frowned.  How could nothing matter?  Did Hermione not matter?  Ron?  Sirius?  Did _Voldemort_ not matter?

He blinked and the feeling was gone.  His eyes met Moody’s, both of which had just focused on him. 

_“Imperio!_ ” he said again.

Harry felt the same feeling brush against his mind, but it vanished almost instantly this time.  He was wise to that feeling.  It was a lie and it wouldn’t fool him again.

“Now, _that’s_ more like it!” Moody barked sharply.  “Look at that, you lot!  Potter shook off that curse before I could even give him a command!  _Imperio!_ ” he incanted again without warning.  Harry felt it brush over him even more easily this time.  “Ha!  Very good, Potter!  Very good, indeed!  They’ll have trouble controlling _you_!”

Harry frowned at the ex-auror.  For just a second there after he cast for the third time, he could have _sworn_ the man looked annoyed rather than excited.  He shook it after a moment.  It might have been a lingering effect of the Imperius.  Or it might have just been that it was hard to read the man with one good eye and a face that was more scar than skin.

* * *

 

“Where were you, earlier?!” Hermione demanded as soon as she’d closed and warded the door of the small reading room behind her. 

“When?” Harry asked innocently.

“During Defense!” she demanded.  “Where were you?”

Harry made a show of checking his watch.  “Right _here_ , Hermione.”

She glared and ominously crossed the distance between them.  “Don’t you give me that, Harry James Potter!  I know perfectly well that you turned back with me this time.  We’re in Defense right now, but you’re somewhere else, too!  Where?”

Harry sighed, “Hermione, please relax.  Have a seat.  I promise that I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t be doing – well, besides using the turner an extra time.”

Her lips disappeared for how tightly she was pressing them together.

“I’m just doing a bit of extra research,” he promised.  “I’m not in the library,” he added when she opened her mouth.  Being in the same place at the same time was something they tried very hard to avoid.  Of course, Hermione was a little more concerned with that than he was.  She didn’t even like to catch a glimpse of herself when she could avoid it.  Personally, he wasn’t worried about that.  The rules were in place for a reason.  He just didn’t care about most of those reasons.  As long as he knew that a future him might turn up at any moment and didn’t freak out about it or let anyone else see them together, then it didn’t seem like it should matter.  Hermione wasn’t quite ready to know about the time-turner rules he chose to disregard though.

“Look, I promise that I’m not doing anything wrong, Hermione.  I’ll tell you everything once I make some progress.”

She frowned at him, pursing her lips in a way that she did when she was trying to decide if she should press her lecture or drop it.  After a moment, she sighed and sat down, indicating that she’d come out on the side of dropping it – for which he was very thankful.  “Just be careful, Harry,” she urged.  “If you get caught, you _will_ lose that time-turner, and if you’ll recall, the entire reason you’re taking so many classes this year is so that you can _have_ a time-turner.”

He smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry.  I’m not likely to forget.  Now, can you help me with my Runes?  I can’t figure out how to shape the protection rune here.”

She just rolled her eyes and drew his assignment closer to her.

* * *

 

**17 October 1994**

“Harry, what are we doing down here?” Hermione hissed nervously as they slipped out of the secret passage Harry had found into some deep part of the dungeons that he was sure she’d never seen before.  He’d never seen it until he’d started searching.  “Are you _trying_ to get us ambushed by Slytherins?”

“Not many of them come this deep into the dungeons,” Harry dismissed.  “Best I can tell, most of this section was closed off about four hundred years ago.”

“That doesn’t explain what we’re doing here,” she huffed.

“I think it would be best if I showed you,” he smirked at her over his shoulder.

She frowned, but didn’t complain again.

They walked only a few minutes more before they came to the blank stretch of wall that looked exactly like every other blank stretch of wall – except for a tiny snake carved into the wall just above the floor level.  Harry had spent the better part of two months searching for just such a thing.  He hadn’t been able to believe that Salazar Slytherin would have made the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets – the _only_ entrance – in a second floor girl’s bathroom.  Or even if that hadn’t been a girl’s bathroom in his time, it seemed like Slytherin would have had an entrance in the dungeons.  Something that didn’t require him to slide down a pipe to reach.  Of course, he didn’t expect it to be easy to find.  In second year, everyone had said that the school had been searched many times over the years since the Founders’ time and no one had ever been able to locate the chamber.  Of course, most of them probably hadn’t been parselmouths.

Either way, Harry had strongly suspected that Slytherin had hidden more than just the one chamber in this school, and he’d been right.  Merlin, had he been right.  Once he’d started looking, he’d discovered quite a few secret passages around the school that were marked only with a tiny carved snake in an out-of-the-way location.  They only opened to parseltongue as far as he could tell.

This one though.  This was the one he’d been looking for.

“ _Open_ ,” he hissed at the wall.

Hermione squeaked as the wall slid in a few inches, then to the side, leaving a dark, narrow corridor now open to them.  “Come on,” he grinned before leading the way inside.  “ _Lights,_ ” the hiss sparked the candles to light, illuminating a bright, cheerful parlor.

“What is this?” Hermione gasped.

“Welcome, Hermione,” Harry grinned, “To Salazar Slytherin’s personal chambers.”


	2. Chapter 2

**30 October 1994**

The last week leading up to the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students wasn’t all that different from the rest of the first two months of the school year for Harry.  Except, of course, that he was spending even more time studying to avoid having any time to argue with Ron or listen to idiots going on about how much they wished they were old enough to enter the tournament.  Harry could not understand the appeal, but maybe he’d just had too much experience fighting for his life to ever be willing to do it for money or “glory”.  Staying alive was hard enough for him without that kind of insanity.

So he mostly did his best to avoid all of the pretournament excitement and instead locked himself away in the library or in Slytherin’s private library, studying for his classes, Hermione’s house-elf crusade, time travel, or anything else that piqued his curiosity.  Slytherin’s library had some _really_ fascinating books.  Once he’d mastered the translation charms necessary to read the antiquated script, he’d barely been able to pull himself away long enough to maintain a façade of semi-normalcy to the rest of the school and to attend all of his classes.  Writing essays and keeping up with lessons was getting easier and easier as he fine-tuned his study techniques with the help of Hermione and his time-turner, so that required less and less time even as his grades continued to climb.

“Harry, we…  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Harry started and looked up from his book at Hermione’s exclamation.  He’d been expecting it, of course, but he’d managed to lose track of time and hadn’t realized it was coming so soon.  He quickly noted his page number and closed his book as he got up.  “I’ll handle it,” he assured his younger self, who was looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar from his seat at the other end of Slytherin’s library.  That, of course, was Hermione’s gripe.  She still supported the time-turner rule requiring you to avoid yourself.

“Hermione, relax, would you,” he started, his voice calm and relaxed, but unrepentant.  As soon as she got it into her head that he thought he’d done something wrong, she’d never relent.

“Relax?” she screeched, looking between the two Harrys.  “Which one are you?” she demanded.  “Younger or older?!”

“Older,” he said calmly.

She turned on him completely then.  “What exactly do you think you’re doing coming in here when you knew that your younger self was here?  You _know_ that you’re not…”

“Not, what?” he challenged mildly.  “Hermione, trust me, I understand the reason behind the rule to avoid yourself.  It makes sense.  If you’re not expecting to see an exact replica of yourself, it can be quite shocking and a number of bad things could happen, including ending up in a duel with yourself if you assumed that your elder was an imposter.  In our particular situation, however, there is no basis for that concern.  When I saw myself walk into the library earlier, I blinked once, nodded hello, and went back to my reading.  I _know_ that I have a time turner that I use frequently.  Really, my first assumption upon seeing my doppelganger walking around is that I’ve used the turner.”

She glared at him in that way that she did when she was sure she was right, but was having a hard time thinking of a good reason as to why that was.

“It’s fine,” he reiterated.  “You and I are the only ones who know about these rooms.  We’re the only ones who can get in unless Voldemort shows up, which seems incredibly unlikely.”

She smirked very slightly at his humor and looked between the two of him again.  Her teeth worried her lower lip while she considered the situation.  “Just be careful, Harry,” she finally sighed.  “If you get too comfortable doing this, and accidentally show up twice where anyone else can see…”

“It will be the end of having a time-turner, I know,” Harry finished for her.

She frowned at him.  “I always knew that you were smart, Harry – certainly smarter than you let on – but this is getting a little ridiculous.  Are you aware that the only shared class in which I am currently ranked above you is Potions?  I know you’ve been turning more time than me, but _how_ were you hiding being _this_ smart for the last three years?  Honestly, it’s disturbing.  How did you make up for three years of skiving off in two months?”

He grinned in reply.  “We’re going to be late for the arrival of the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, aren’t we?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Don’t evade my question!”

He frowned for a moment, then directed a glare at the wall behind Hermione.  “What, exactly, would you like to hear, Hermione?” he said finally, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion.  “That I was beaten and starved as a child whenever I did well in school?”  He heard her gasp, but continued avoiding her eyes.  “I honestly have no idea how smart I am or am not.  I just know that I’ve just remembered that learning is fun and easy and no one can stop me from doing it now.”  He huffed a heavy breath.  He’d heard himself say that a few hours ago, but part of him had still foolishly hoped that he might avoid it.  “Now, can we please go before we’re late?  You know it’ll be noticed if I’m not there, and we don’t need McGonagall on us about not being able to be on time when we have time-turners.”  He started toward the door without another word.  He knew she’d follow.

They arrived in the Entrance Hall just in time to fall in with their yearmates as McGonagall walked down the line like a general inspecting her troops.  She eyed them both in a way that suggested she hadn’t missed their late arrival, but she didn’t say anything before turning to lead them outside in a single long line.

They gathered on the lawn in front of the castle to wait for the arrival of the other schools and Harry cast a quick warming charm on his robe.  It really was quite chilly in the Scottish Highlands the night before Halloween.  He pitied the first and second years who hadn’t learned that charm yet.  He felt less sorry for those older students apparently too dim to use the charm, as he noticed quite a few students shivering and huddling in their robes around him.  Sadly, Slytherin house alone seemed smart enough for every single student to have used the charm as they stood calm and unaffected in the moonlight.  The lower years weren’t shivering either, he noted curiously.  Someone must have cast the charms on their cloaks before they left the castle.

He wondered why only the snakes seemed to look after their own like that…

Before he could get too deep into philosophical considerations of the Hogwarts houses, his attention was drawn to a conversation starting among his housemates about how the delegations would be arriving.  Hermione, he noticed, was quite quick to lay into Ron about his idea that they might apparate through the anti-apparation wards around Hogwarts.  She did have a right to be that annoyed, he supposed.  She’d only told him and Ron that very thing ever since first year.  She did not, however, offer up any suggestions on how they might turn up.

Harry, too, avoided speculating aloud.  There didn’t seem to be much point in it except to fill the silence or pass the time.  They’d find out soon enough, after all.  What was the point in wondering unless they were taking bets on their ideas?  While that thought had some merit, Harry suspected that there wasn’t enough time to get a good betting pool going.

Instead, Harry spent the time thinking about the anti-apparation wards around Hogwarts.  And all the other wards, actually.  He wondered if Salazar had ever recorded anything about the wards.  It would be amazing to get a first-hand account of how the wards worked… 

Again, his thoughts were interrupted – this time by Dumbledore’s announcement of the Beauxbatons’ delegation approaching. 

* * *

 

**22 November 1994**

Harry closed his fist around the scroll he’d been reading, dropping it quickly when he realized that it had begun to smoke.  He took several deep breaths and tried to get a hold on his magic.  He’d never been this angry in his life.  Not even when he’d heard that Sirius Black, betrayer of the Potters, had been his godfather and their friend.

He’d felt betrayal then, but it hadn’t been anything like this.  He’d wanted to kill Sirius Black with his bare hands, then.  He didn’t even know what to do with the rage he was feeling now.  This was something so much stronger than the anger he usually felt that his Happy Bracelet wasn’t making a dent in it.

He dropped his head into his hands and realized that he must be crying when he felt the moisture on his cheeks.  He dug his fingers into his hair and tightened them into fists, pulling harshly at the strands.  The pain helped to clear his head and then all of the rage suddenly drained out of him and he just felt very tired and very sad.

It had taken more than three weeks, but he’d finally gotten his hands on a copy of the Triwizard Tournament Rules and Regulations and 1994 Amendments.  The Rules stated, as amended in 1456, the headmaster may disqualify any participant under the age of seventeen if he was concerned for the student’s safety, but only within one hour of the drawing.  Apparently this amendment was made after a first year was chosen and forced to compete in 1455, leading to the eleven-year-old’s death during the First Task.  The fact that Harry had been made to compete despite that had brassed him off.

What had pushed him into full-on rage, however, was when he’d noticed that the rule had been amended in 1994.  It now stated that anyone under the age of seventeen may refuse an appointment by the cup at the time of the drawing.  The infuriating part was that the amendment had been proposed by none other than Albus Dumbledore.  The headmaster had known that all Harry had to do was immediately state that he relinquished his position and the cup would have released him from the magic of the contract.  He had known and he’d said nothing.  Indeed, he’d made it seem like he _had to_ compete.

And Crouch had abetted him, because he definitely should have known about that rule, having been in charge of the committee amending the rules for the latest tournament.

Harry let himself collapse onto the cold stone floor of Salazar’s library and just stared blankly at the ceiling as his mind spun.  Did this mean that Dumbledore was the one to put his name into the cup or that he’d just approved of it happening and done nothing to stop it.  He and Crouch had made it sound so convenient and they hadn’t even really lied. 

“…those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament,” Crouch said, and he was right.  The rules did state that quite clearly.  Of course, had he continued to quote, he’d have soon reached the small-print amendment from this very year stating, _no student beneath the age of adulthood may be forced to compete against his or her will_.

And then there was Dumbledore.  “How this situation arose, we don’t know.  It seems clear to me however that we must accept it.”  Yes, _they_ must accept it if Harry didn’t speak up for himself, which no one had told him he was allowed to do.

Whether Dumbledore put his name in that goblet or not, it was clear that he could have gotten him out of it if he’d wanted to.  He obviously did _not_ want to.  Harry didn’t know what the man stood to gain by making Harry go through this tournament, and that bothered him quite a bit.  He was _pretty sure_ that Dumbledore wasn’t hoping he would die.  Surely he’d had more than enough chances to make that happen in the past if that had been his goal.

And Harry had just learned last night that he was going to be facing _dragons_ in the first task.  Dragons.  Beasts that required entire _teams_ of trained professionals to handle and he was going to be facing one alone.

* * *

 

**24 November 1994**

Harry sat in the tent awaiting his turn at the dragons.  He was last, of course.  It was just his luck that he’d have to sit and stew about his possibly approaching death the longest.  The last two days since he’d learned that he would have to face a dragon, Harry had turned enough time to have stretched it into more than a week.  He’d spent as much time as possible in Slytherin’s library, two or three versions of himself usually working side-by-side.  Hermione had scowled when she’d caught him at it, but she’d said nothing.  She was worried about him surviving the coming task as well.

Working with future versions of himself was helpful.  The older versions of him were able to give the younger one advice about which books he should be focusing on and what chapters didn’t have anything useful.

He _had_ managed to work out a plan in that time.  He wasn’t sure if it would _work_ , but he thought it was possible.  If not, he had a Plan B, which also may not work.  If _that_ failed, Plan C would be considerably more dangerous.  If Plan C failed, he would be in trouble because at that point he’d be winging it.

The bell finally sounded for him and he swallowed back the urge to sick up the few nibbles he’d managed for breakfast.  Gripping his wand tightly, he forced himself to enter the arena.  The dragon looked about a hundred times bigger now that he knew he had to face it.  He was barely aware of the audience or the announcer.  He had no idea if they were cheering or booing or if Bagman was saying anything.  All of his focus was on the dragon.

Merlin, this wasn’t the first time he’d been in mortal danger, but this was the first time he’d gone into it intentionally without someone’s life on the line.  He didn’t much care for the feeling.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tugged on his rudimentary occlumency barriers and tried to keep a clear head.  The dragon was watching him mistrustfully, crouched low over her clutch.

“Accio Golden Egg!” he shouted.

Nothing happened and Harry tried not to blush as he became aware of the laughter coming from the stands.  He shook himself and tried to go back to ignoring them.  Yes, he’d known that it was a slim chance the egg wouldn’t have been protected with anti-summoning charms, but he’d _had to_ try.  With Plan A out of commission, he switched to Plan B.

Pointing his wand at himself, he cast the complex flame protection spell he’d found in a dragon handler manual that he’d owl-ordered.  He’d barely received the book in time, but with his turner he’d had time to learn it last night.  The spell was designed specifically to protect against dragon fire, but each casting was only strong enough to ward against one good blast of flame.  The next ward he cast was obscure – one he’d found in Salazar’s library.  It didn’t protect against spells at all, which is probably why it had fallen into disuse.  It did, however, protect against physical trauma.  For example, if the dragon were to hit him with its tail or claws or toss him across the arena or try to bite him in half, that ward would provide at least _some_ protection.  He hoped it would at least keep him alive until the dragon handlers could rescue him and get him to a healer.

Repressing a shudder, Harry steeled himself and started a slow march toward the dragon, who was becoming increasingly irritable the nearer he came.  Finally, she reared up to breathe on him and Harry took his chance, aiming his spell under her lifted belly to shoot a simple impervious ward at the nest.  It would keep her from accidentally crushing any of the eggs while he tried to get her away from them.  He got his spell off just as he hoped, but it cost him the chance to try to avoid her breath.

He heard a uniform rise of noise from the crowd before it was drowned out by the roar of the flame around him.  And _fuck_ it was hot.  The fire ward he’d set on himself kept him from any real harm, but it was still very uncomfortable.  He threw himself out of the path of the flame just as he felt the ward flicker and die. 

He was nearly blinded as the light of the flame died away, so he didn’t realize that she’d lunged for him until she was almost on top of him.  He did the only thing he could and let his knees give out, dropping to the ground a hair’s breadth beneath her snapping jaws that he really wasn’t sure would have been properly deterred from puncturing him fatally despite his remaining ward.

Rolling, he spun back to his feet, but made it only a step and a half before he felt the impact of one of her viciously clawed forefeet.  It slammed into his back and left side with the kind of force he’d imagine he’d feel if he’d been hit by a car.  It lifted him off his feet and he felt himself become airborne for one endless moment before he crashed into the rocky ground of the arena.  He tumbled over and over half a dozen times before he was able to right himself.  He groaned as he struggled to push himself back to his feet, but he didn’t think anything was broken or otherwise badly damaged.  That ward was amazing, but he didn’t know how much longer it would last, so he really hoped he could avoid taking another hit like that.

Any further thought on the matter was suspended when he managed to gain his feet and realized that the dragon was bearing down on him again.

 _Now or never_ , he thought as he snapped up his wand, knowing that it would be virtually impossible to run clear of the beast before she was upon him.  Pulling on his magic more strongly than he ever had, he bellowed out a “STUPEFY!”.

Then he watched in mild disbelief as Plan B actually worked.  It normally took at least a dozen dragon handlers casting the spell simultaneously to knock out an adult dragon, much less a breed as large as the Hungarian Horntail.  The idea that he’d be able to manage it single-handedly had been a long-shot at best.  He’d thought it more likely that he’d be able to stagger her, if anything.  He knew that he was powerful.  He’d figured that out when he’d properly researched the Patronus spell this year and discovered that the average corporeal patronus could drive off as many as three or possibly four dementors at a time.  There must have been at least fifty of them last year.  Despite that knowledge, he really hadn’t had much more faith in the success of this plan than he’d had for the accio to work.

Nevertheless, he found himself staring at the slumbering form of the mother dragon as her unconscious form slid to a halt less than three meters away from him.

He realized then that the arena was silent.

Clearing his throat quietly, Harry walked around the dragon at a measured pace that he was able to maintain without his knees buckling.  There were definitely a few seconds of dizziness after he cast that spell, and an unpleasant lethargy pulling at his limbs that he’d never felt before. 

When he reached the nest, he banished the ward easily and bent to retrieve the golden egg.

He turned back toward the judges once it was in his hand.  When there was no response from the announcer or the audience, he lifted it over his head.

Finally, Bagman spoke.  “And he has the egg!”

The crowd suddenly erupted in applause and Harry wearily lowered the egg to clutch it to his chest as he made his way to where Pomfrey was simultaneously glaring and waving him toward her.  He tuned out the sound of the crowd and tried to ignore Bagman’s ecstatic recap.  “He _stunned_ the dragon!  Singlehandedly!”

Madam Pomfrey quickly got him onto a bed in the infirmary tent and he was asleep before she cast the first diagnostic spell.

* * *

 

**10 December 1994**

“Hey, Luna,” Harry said conversationally as the loopy Ravenclaw sat down next to him in Ancient Runes.  “Would you mind being my date to the Yule Ball?  Just as friends?”

She gave him a bright, dreamy smile.  “I’d love to, Harry.  Thank you for thinking of me.”

Harry snorted quietly in response.  “Who else would I think of?” he asked rhetorically.  His only female friends were Luna and Hermione and Luna couldn’t go unless she was invited by an upper year.  It hadn’t been a hard choice.  Besides, he was pretty sure Hermione would like to have a real date to this thing and he knew she didn’t fancy him any more than he fancied her.  As for romantic interests, Harry was reasonably sure that he wasn’t ever going to fancy any girl.  This theory had been reinforced a few weeks ago when he’d happened upon Theo Nott and Su Li in a dark corner of the library in a decidedly compromising position.  Despite the fact that Su was a perfectly attractive girl, Harry had found himself giving much more attention to the way Theo’s unbuttoned trousers rode dangerously low on his hips than the fact that Su’s shirt was completely open in front.

* * *

 

**24 June 1995**

Harry and Cedric looked at each other.  Cedric was considerably closer to the cup.  Harry turned his ankle carefully and breathed a relieved sigh when he realized the damage was no greater than a bruise.  Merlin, he loved that ward.

Harry and Cedric both got to their feet, eyeing each other warily.  Harry glanced between the other boy and the cup.  He didn’t need the fame or the money he would get by winning and he hadn’t wanted anything to do with this tournament.  If he won, he’d probably cement the hatred of Hufflepuff House for life.  Still…  He’d nearly died in this stupid tournament.  Numerous times.  He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to at least try to win when he was this close.

So he threw a smirk at the other boy and teasingly offered, “Race ya.”

Cedric looked at him incredulously.  He was twice as close to the cup.  There was virtually no way Harry would overtake him, particularly considering that Cedric had about a foot of height on him.  After a moment looking conflicted, he shook his head.  “No,” he said resolutely.  “You take it.  You’ve saved my neck twice in here.  You deserve it.”

Harry pursed his lips.  If Cedric were a Slytherin, this would be an obvious trap to get him to let down his guard and turn his back to the other boy.  Considering that he was a Hufflepuff, that was unlikely but not impossible.  That cowardly little rat, Wormtail had been a Gryffindor, after all.  He’d be an idiot to assume that everyone was a perfect cutout of their House Values.

“Come on, Potter,” Cedric prompted when Harry didn’t respond right away.  “You’ve done better than me on every task _and_ you’ve saved me twice.  Besides, you told me about the dragons or I’d never have made it through the First Task.  You deserve that cup way more than me.  You stunned a _dragon_ for Merlin’s sake!  Everyone knows you’re the most powerful wizard of our generation _and_ the last one.”

Harry grimaced slightly, but couldn’t really refute any of those claims.  Ever since the First Task, Harry had been labeled the most powerful wizard of his generation.  The only people anyone compared to his power were Dumbledore and Voldemort.  Harry and Hermione had done some research and figured out that it was likely true that he was in the top three most powerful wizards in Britain.

“I’d feel better if you made me work for it,” he couldn’t help but grumble.

Cedric grinned at that.  “I kind of figured you’d have taken me out the second I turned around, Potter.  I’d rather surrender graciously, thanks.”

Harry smirked at him and gave a conceding nod as he walked passed the other boy toward the cup.  He kept a very careful focus on the Hufflepuff once he was at his back, but he lived up to his House name and didn’t try anything.

Harry grabbed the cup and his eyes widened when he felt the hook behind his navel.

He landed hard and looked around warily to realize that he was no longer on Hogwarts grounds.  In fact, judging by the missing mountains anywhere on the horizon, he’d traveled a very long way, probably hundreds of kilometers.  He just had time to realize that he was in a graveyard, and then he heard a whisper behind him.  He spun around in time to take the bright red stunner in the face and the world went black.

* * *

 

**1 July 1995**

“Potter, let go.”

Harry shook his head, unable to even consider loosening his hold on his savior.  After an endless week as Voldemort’s “guest”, Snape had finally gotten Harry out.  Snape had found him in his cell.  McNair had been…  He’d had Harry pinned to the floor, his heavy, sweaty body holding him in place, moving over him.  The pain that burned in his arse and shot up his back was barely noticed after everything he’d been through that week. 

Then, suddenly, there was a gush of something wet over his back and then McNair was gone.  He’d looked back and Snape had been there.  McNair’s throat had been cut and Snape was just tossing away his body like so much rubbish, bloody knife still in hand.  Then he’d stepped forward, ignored Harry’s instinctive flinch, and scooped him into his arms.  “I’m getting you out of here, Potter,” he’d said, his voice tight, but lacking the loathing it typically contained whenever he spoke to Harry.  “Can you hold on?  I need my wand hand free.”

Harry had nodded and locked his arms and legs around his professor, ignoring his nakedness and clinging to the only tangible hope he’d had in the lifetime that had passed since he’d touched that cup.

At some point, after they’d apparated away, Snape had draped his cloak around Harry’s naked body and probably used a sticking charm because it was clinging improbably to his back.

“Potter,” Snape said again, his voice strangely gentle.  “Let go, Harry.  You’re safe.”

Harry understood the words, but he couldn’t do it.  “Can’t,” he managed to gasp because he truly could not make himself let go.

The body beneath him sighed, and then Harry was eased back just a bit and the cool lip of a small glass bottle was pressed to his lips.  “Drink, Harry,” the gentle voice said.  “It’s Dreamless Sleep.  Drink.”

And Harry did.  With a chocked off sob, he put his faith in Snape to keep him safe, and swallowed the potion.

* * *

 

**2 August 1995**

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Harry stared in a sort of awed disbelief as he watched the dementor driven away, not by the stag that represented his dad, but by a massive, rather terrifying cat. Though it was brilliant silvery white as were all patroni, he was pretty sure that it was a panther and it took no more than a fraction of a second to figure out the cause of the change.

The panther was stealthy and deadly in a way that was very much Snape.  Snape, the man who had rescued Harry in his darkest hour, revealing his true allegiance in the process.  Harry hadn’t seen Snape since the man had poured a vial of Dreamless Sleep down his throat.  He’d woken in the hospital wing and he hadn’t left it until after everyone else had already left for the summer.  After questioning him about all the horrid details of his incarceration, Dumbledore had personally escorted him back to Privet Drive.

Dudley had been teasing Harry all summer about the things he’d shouted in his sleep.

_“…please, no! Please, it hurts.  No, don’t…”_

He’d woken shaking with tears on his face nearly every night, and hearing Dudley parrot those words back at him… the very words he’d never allowed to escape him when they’d been hurting him…  Harry had come perilously close to killing Dudley several times this summer.  He’d drawn his wand and very nearly used it the first time.  Another time, Dudley had taunted him in the kitchen and Harry had caught himself in a disturbingly enjoyable fantasy of putting the knife he was washing to a more constructive use.

Now, he turned toward where his cousin was held at the mercy of the dementor.  He saw the glowing speck of soul hovering between them as he had once seen with Sirius, and… he hesitated.  It was only a second or two before he realized what he was doing and quickly sent his patronus to Dudley’s aid.

Like it was slow motion, he watched the speck of light vanish into the dementor’s mouth a moment before his patronus was able to drive it away and for a long moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the breathing, but lifeless body of his cousin.

* * *

 

**31 August 1995**

“Did you get…?”  Hermione looked at the Prefect badge in Harry’s hand and squealed excitedly.  “Me too, Harry!  Me too!”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh and dropped the badge back into his envelope, ignoring the way Ron was glaring jealously from across the room.  They’d called a truce after the First Task, but their friendship had never recovered from the blow of Ron turning his back on Harry about the Triwizard thing.  They’d already been at odds because Harry had been ignoring him so much in favor of studying.  It had been almost distressingly easy to focus on his studies and let three years of friendship just drift away.

He gave Hermione a small smile.  It was the most he’d managed since the Third Task.  “Good for you, Hermione, but really… Anyone who didn’t know it would be you is deluded.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t seem capable of mitigating her enormous grin.  “Well, of course I was sure it would be you, as well, Harry.  I mean, honestly, you’re competing with me for top marks in every class that we share.”

Harry just shrugged.  He was glad that Hermione was happy, but he couldn’t quite make himself care whether or not he was prefect.  Most things were hard to care about these days.  Between what had happened after the Third Task and the fact that he’d just stood there and let that dementor kill Dudley…  Little things like school and drama with Ron just felt so petty.  He did his best to act like he was less affected than he really was.  Hermione and Sirius didn’t need to worry about him any more than they already did.

“Good morning, Professor,” Hermione said suddenly, and Harry stifled a flinch when her eyes settled over his shoulder and he realized that he’d let someone get behind him without realizing it.  He hadn’t been able to tolerate anyone at his back since the Third Task.  He quickly turned and moved to stand next to Hermione so that he was facing McGonagall and Ron was well off to his other side.

“Miss Granger.  Mr. Potter,” she acknowledged with a nod.  “Mr. Weasley, would you excuse us for a few minutes?” she asked, though it didn’t sound much like a request.

Ron huffed as he left, but didn’t dare say anything in front of McGonagall.  Harry really wished he could room with Hermione instead, but he figured that was pretty unlikely.

Professor McGonagall closed the door before turning to face them again. She pulled a pair of scrolls from her pocket and held one out and offer to each of them. “We need to discuss your timetables for the coming year,” she said stiffly.

Harry opened his scroll and scanned down what he realized was a list of available slots in his timetable.

“We can’t use the time-turners this year?” Hermione asked, aghast. “But it’s our OWL year.”

“I am sorry, Miss Granger, but no,” McGonagall said, her lips pinched tightly but her eyes shone with remorse. “After Mr. Potter lost his time-turner last year, it was decided that time turners will not be permitted for students beneath NEWT level.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped and her eyes burned with outrage, “Harry didn’t _lose_ his time-turner, Professor! It was _stolen_ from him. When he was _kidnapped_.”

“Let it go, Hermione,” Harry interjected mildly. “There is nothing we or Professor McGonagall can do about it,” he pointed out firmly.

McGonagall nodded her agreement, but she didn’t look happy about it. “I am well aware of those circumstances, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, Mr. Potter is correct. I will need your revised class selections at the welcoming feast tomorrow evening. Have a good day,” she added stiffly before vacating the room.

Hermione growled furiously as the door closed and stomped her foot in frustration. “I _cannot_ believe they are doing this to us!”

“I can,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t like it. Not at all. The thought of going through the new school year without the convenience and comfort of his time-turner was more than a little unsettling. The Turner hadn’t helped him after the third task because they found it and taken it away from him. Hermione had been accosted by Crouch Jr. in the course of his escape from the school during the third task. She been unconscious for a day and a half, negating any possibility that she could’ve used her time-turner to warn Harry that something was going to happen. Nevertheless, it would have been a comfort to have that little bit of insurance against something happening this year.

“I was abducted, Hermione,” he pointed out, pleased that his voice only wavered slightly on that dreaded word. “I spent a week with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I barely made it out of there, and the ministry told me that I didn’t know what I was talking about. They said I’d been captured by rogue former Death Eaters. They said I had been traumatized. That I didn’t know what I was talking about. They called me a liar. The daily Prophet made me into a running joke. The dementors came into my neighborhood they took Dudley’s soul and almost got mine, too. And the Ministry wanted to expel me for defending myself.”

Harry shook his head, and tried to shake off some of his gravity when he realized that Hermione was staring at him with that sort of horrified pity that he hated so much. He sighed briskly and shook his head. “My point is that the Ministry isn’t going to protect us like they’re supposed to. They would love nothing more than throw me in Azkaban, and probably you to if you put up a fight about it. So no, I don’t see them letting us have time turners this year. We should just be glad they’re letting us go to Hogwarts at all.”

With that, Harry sat down on his bed and turned his attention to the parchment McGonagall had given him. He needed to cut down his class list for this year. Muggle studies was easy to drop. The only thing he learned in that class was that wizards didn’t know very much about Muggles. Divination was an easy choice as well. He’d only hung onto the class for Ron’s sake, and as they were no longer on particularly friendly terms he felt no obligation to retain it this year. That left his electives at Care of Magical Creatures, and fourth year Ancient Runes and Arithmancy in addition to his core classes. He was certain that he wouldn’t actually be missing those two classes, but he would certainly be missing the time-turner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I skipped the second task. His hostage was Luna if you’re curious. I didn’t feel like there was enough of interest to write about in that task and I’ve just read too many dozens of other renditions of the tasks to be that interested in writing another one.


	3. Chapter 3

**9 September 1995**

Harry stared in disbelief at the woman who had just ordered him to copy lines with what he now recognized as a blood quill.  He’d read about them, but he’d never seen one up close before.  He knew that they were used to sign magically binding documents in your own blood, but that was about it.  Sadly, he’d never given any real thought to them when he’d been reading.  Of course, he’d imagined them as a simple magical tool, not a torture device.

“Yes?” the horrible woman smiled widely, clearly just waiting for an excuse to make his life even more difficult.

“What if I refuse?” he asked tightly, barely managing to keep his tone somewhere in the realm of civil.

If anything, his question caused her horrible amphibian smirk to broaden, “Refusing to submit yourself to emplaced disciplinary measures is grounds for expulsion, Mr. Potter,” she simpered even as malice burned in her beady eyes.

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes returning to the parchment containing the single line written in his blood.  He didn’t doubt for a minute that it would happen, too.  With the ministry’s current attitude toward him, they’d absolutely _love_ the excuse to expel him.  He doubted he’d even get a trial this time.

Taking a deep breath, Harry put the quill to the parchment again.  He controlled his wince this time.  The bitch was taking far too much pleasure from watching him inflict injury on himself.  He would not give her the satisfaction of seeing how much it was hurting him.

Sometime later, when he was finally permitted to leave, Harry went directly to McGonagall’s office.  This was still a school, surely it wasn’t permissible to torture students.  No, it wasn’t the Cruciatus or any of Bellatrix’s more creative methods, but she was forcing him to repeatedly inflict pain upon himself while she watched with sick pleasure in her eyes.  He felt that he knew enough about torture at this point in his life to accurately categorize it.

The conversation with McGonagall lasted less than a minute and left Harry feeling a stirring of betrayal similar to what he’d felt last year when he’d learned that he could have gotten out of the Triwizard Tournament had Dumbledore actually cared about protecting him.  He wasn’t sure if McGonagall knew what Umbridge had made him do, but he got the distinct impression that she didn’t _want_ to know.  She didn’t want to hear it.  He understood that she was worried about her job what with the bitch haunting all the teachers, but McGonagall was a Head of House.  Wasn’t she supposed to worry about the students first?

Feeling bitter and terribly alone, Harry headed directly for the lower dungeons and Salazar’s library.  There was a lot of material in the Dark Arts there.  While he wasn’t normally one to condone using the Dark Arts against others, Umbridge more than had it coming.  She was a scourge upon the wizarding world.  He didn’t know if she was a Death Eater or just in line with their ideals on some things, but either way, she was out to do harm and clearly crazy enough to torture children that were under her care.  And it wasn’t just what she felt she had to do either.  It was disgustingly obvious that she was _enjoying_ it.  Whatever he was going to do to protect himself and the other children from her… he was uncomfortably comfortable with it being permanent in nature.

His conscience twinged at the mere idea that he was capable of doing something like that, not in the heat of battle or desperate self-defense, but to coolly and methodically plot it out…  It wasn’t something that he particularly liked knowing about himself.

At the same time…

Voldemort was alive.  Harry was very high if not number one on his hit list.  There was no getting out of this without either dying or killing, he was sure.  If he wanted to live, he was going to have to learn to take life.

On his walk down, he tried to remind himself that soldiers were killers and they weren’t monsters.  Their superiors who decided where to send them and when – they weren’t evil either.  Killing, by itself, was not an act of evil.  If you were defending an innocent, killing became a good thing.  If you were defending a nation, killing became an obligation, almost.

Stood in the center of Salazar’s library, Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Murder was a selfish act.  Murder was killing for your own reasons.  He would say that murder was defined by killing illegally, but that wasn’t quite right either.  Not when your government was as fucked up as the British Ministry of Magic.  A government that let its leader get away with summary executions.  A government that sanctioned the torture of school children was not one on which anyone should base a definition of morality.

Yeah, maybe Harry didn’t have any right to be deciding who should live and who should die, but _someone_ had to do it.  He didn’t see anyone else ready to defend him and any other student unfortunate enough to end up with a detention under that bitch.  And it wasn’t just the students in danger.  She also hated all manner of magical creatures.

Honestly, Harry wasn’t too impressed with the wizarding world as a whole right now.  The majority of them believed the libelous character assassination of the Daily Prophet.  He was getting it better under control now, but it still burned something furious every time someone called him a liar or looked at him like he was crazy.  After the hell he’d been through…  With the memory clearly burned into his mind of staring into those horrible red eyes while under the Cruciatus or writhing under Bellatrix’s knife or with one of those _beasts_ perched over him, driving into him, shredding his soul one thrust at a time…

He forced his mind to stop and concentrated solely on taking slow, deep breaths.

Umbridge got the same look in her eyes when she watched him hurt himself as what Voldemort and the Death Eaters wore while they watched him tortured.  That right there was honestly enough to make him want to kill her, and what bothered him most was how little he really thought it would bother him.

* * *

 

**9 October 1995**

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” Hermione interrupted right after Harry started talking.

He took a breath and tried not to snap at her.  She was most certainly his best friend and one of his only friends at the moment.  Happily, Luna hadn’t cared any more about the Prophet’s defamation of him than she’d ever cared about his being Harry Potter, so he had a total of two friends.  He wasn’t going to lose one of them just because he couldn’t control his urge to lash out ala Snape.

“Harry’s leader,” Cho piped up at once and Harry restrained a wince.  As far as he knew, she was still dating Cedric, but lately she’d been looking at him in a way that made him a bit uncomfortable.

“Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” Hermione said reasonably.  “It makes it formal and it gives him authority.  So.  Everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?”

Every hand went into the air, even that snob Zacharias Smith, which was good because Harry had been of a mind to kick out anyone who hadn’t raised their hands.  Hermione had talked him into doing this to help them learn and he’d be damned before he put up with them fighting him every step of the way.

“Right…  Thanks,” he smiled tightly, fighting down the ever-present need to avoid attention.  He’d gotten a little better at it since coming to Hogwarts, but the ingrained sense that attention meant ridicule, punishment, and/or pain was a powerful one that the Dursleys had instilled in him.  “Well, then…  _What_ , Hermione?” he snapped when she lifted her hand yet again.  Really, they were going to have to talk beforehand next time about what she wanted to cover because it was seeming a lot like he was leader in name only at the moment.

“I also think we ought to have a name,” she said brightly.  “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?”

“Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?” Angelina put in hopefully.

“Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?” suggested Fred cheekily.

“I was thinking,” Hermione frowned at Fred, “more of a name that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.”

“The Defense Association?” Cho suggested.  “The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about?”

Cedric nodded thoughtfully before smiling proudly at his girlfriend and looping his arm over her shoulders.

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” said Ginny.  “Only, let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army, because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?”

There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this, but Harry had to interject.

“Funny,” he agreed, “but we’re not an army, and we’re definitely not Dumbledore’s.”

Quiet gasps were the result of that last statement.

Harry sighed and shook his head, “Yeah, I know what everyone thinks about my relationship with Dumbledore, but it’s not true.  The only time I ever talk to him is when I’ve nearly died, honestly.  More importantly, has Dumbledore helped anyone in this room this year?”

“He made her let Gryffindor play Quidditch!” Angelina pointed out.

“You said yourself that you went to McGonagall and only guessed that she might have taken it to Dumbledore,” Harry countered.  “Look, I’m not saying that Dumbledore’s a bad person.  I’m just saying that he doesn’t hold my particular loyalty and if you all name this group Dumbledore’s Army, then you can ask him to teach it, because I won’t,” he said firmly. 

The murmuring this time was of a decidedly grimmer nature.  It was Cedric who spoke up.  “Harry’s right,” he nodded.  “We don’t owe anything to Dumbledore.”  Cedric had put all of his Hufflepuff loyalty into supporting Harry in all possible ways after what had happened during the Third Task.  Cedric felt like it was his fault that had happened to Harry because he’d been the one to make Harry take the cup instead of doing it himself.  Harry hated talking about it, so he’d let it go without much arguing after assuring the older boy that he didn’t blame him.

“All in favor of the Defense Association?” Hermione posed.  She did a quick count of hands and nodded, “That’s a majority.  Motion passed!”

She pinned the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall and wrote DEFENSE ASSOCIATION across the top in large letters.

“Right,” Harry nodded.  “Was that all, Hermione, or is there anything else you’d like to get done right off the bat?” he asked politely but with just enough of a wry lilt to make his point.

She blushed and shook her head quickly, “No.  That was all.”

He nodded again.  “All right, then.  First, I was thinking we should work on Expelliarmus.  You know, the Disarming Charm.  I know it’s pretty basic, but I’ve found it really useful-“

“Oh, _please_ ,” said Zacharias, rolling his eyes and folding his arms.  “I don’t think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?”

Harry frowned and bit down on his temper.  “How many times have you faced Voldemort, Smith?” he posed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Smith flinched along with everyone else at the name.  “I’ve faced him _three_ times, since I started at Hogwarts.  I’ve faced a load of Death Eaters, too.  Do try to remember that Voldemort isn’t the only one you might find yourself fighting.  If you _do_ meet Voldemort, do yourself a favor, and _don’t fight_.  Run away.  That is the only sane response to meeting that man.  Trust me.

“Now, the Disarming Charm removes your opponent’s greatest weapon – his _wand_.  Manage that, and most of the battle’s over.  Anyone here who thinks this basic implement of dueling is beneath them may leave now,” he turned just a little to hold out an arm toward the door.

No one moved and Smith kept his mouth shut this time.

* * *

 

**18 December 1995**

Harry spent the night sitting on his bed at Grimmauld Place, leaning against the cold metal bars of the bedstead, forcing himself to stay awake and trying to think productively.

He’d been the snake.  He’d had a vision – a _real_ vision.  There was no guessing and no denying.  He’d seen it in his sleep and it had really been happening at the same time.

What the hell did that mean?

He clenched his shaking hands into fists and fought the urge to scream in pure frustration.  Why?  Why did these things always happen to him?

A shudder wracked his body and he quickly jumped out of the bed and moved to curl himself into a ball beneath the desk instead.  He turned his head away from the room and hunched into the corner.  He hated himself for being comforted by dark, cramped places, but he was.  Too many years he’d sought solace in the cupboard under the stairs.  He did fine out in the real world most of the time, but when he was really, really stressed, the only thing that could make him comfortable was something that reminded him of a boot cupboard.

He shook those thoughts and settled his forehead on his knees, concentrating on his breathing and trying to use his shaky occlumency shields to organize his mind into something more coherent.  He mentally reviewed all the magical theory he’d ever learned and compared it against what had happened to him.  Visions of any kind were classed as Divination.  Contrary to the worthless class at Hogwarts, Divination was _not_ only about seeing the future.  It had to do with see anything, past, present, _or_ future by way other than the six natural senses.  Visions, scrying, dowsing, reading cards or tea leaves, or gazing into crystal balls, it was all Divining – the Art of Sight beyond Sight, as one book had described it.

The problem, of course, was that there was nothing in Divination that Harry had ever heard so much as hinted at that could put you into the very mind of another person – or animal, in this case.  It didn’t work that way.  Not without some pre-established connection.  It was possible to look through the eyes of your bonded familiar, for example, but not someone else’s.

All of the magical theory Harry had studied since turning eleven, including Salazar’s library and the many, many, _many_ hours spent studying with the time-turner last year, it all told him that what had happened a few hours ago was impossible.

Unless…  Unless there was a pre-existing connection.  He couldn’t be connected to Nagini.  Yes, he was a parselmouth, but that wasn’t a connection, merely a similarity of language.  But Voldemort…  Nagini was Voldemort’s bound familiar, Harry was sure.  If Harry had a strong enough connection to Voldemort it was possible…  He shuddered at the unwanted conclusion. 

Dumbledore had said in Harry’s second year that Voldemort had accidentally given Harry some of his magic when he’d tried to kill him.  That that was why Harry was a parselmouth.  But then, this was Dumbledore, a man who had proven his willingness to lie to Harry’s face and send him into extremely dangerous situations for his own unfathomable reasons.  It was all too easy to imagine the old man had lied about this, too.

He was connected to Voldemort.  _Still_ connected in some manner.  It was the only thing that made sense.  It explained the visions he’d been having periodically since Voldemort’s resurrection.  Since before, actually.  Since he’d gotten into the homunculus, they’d been coming.  But they’d never been proven before.  Harry had been all too eager to tell himself that it was just nerves.

“Idiot,” he whispered disparagingly.  He mocked the wizarding world for their ostrich-like tendencies in letting themselves believe he was a liar rather than facing an uncomfortable truth.  But he wasn’t any better.  Well, he _hadn’t_ been. 

 _No more_ , he promised himself.  No more lying to himself.  If he had to learn how to properly brew Calming Draught and keep some on him at all times, he was going to face the truth from now on.  No matter how terrifying or painful it may be.

* * *

 

**11 January 1996**

“Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, poking her head into the library where Harry and Hermione were curled up on opposite ends of the sofa with their noses in dusty old books.  After he’d explained to her about exactly what had happened and what he feared it meant, they’d both been scouring the Black Library for any hint of what the connection might be.  Considering that it involved Voldemort, they both suspected the answer might be extremely Dark, and therefore this library was their best resource.  “Could you come down to the kitchen?  Professor Snape would like a word with you.”

Submersed in his struggle to understand the complex concepts expressed in the archaic language, it took Harry a few seconds to process what she’d said, but when he had, his head snapped up in surprise.  “Professor Snape?” he asked, wondering vaguely at the way his heart had started pounding at the mention of the man wanting to speak with him.  It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen the man plenty since he’d rescued him from an extremely slow and painful death at the hands of Voldemort and his minions.  He saw him every Potions class and in the Great Hall as well as passing him randomly in the halls.

This would be the first time the man had sought him out though.  He mentally shook himself.  He was virtually certain that this had nothing to do with that.  If Snape had had something to say about it, he’d have done it long since, Harry was certain.  He wasn’t the sort of man to mince words nor to spare anyone’s feelings.

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Weasley smiled gently.  “In the kitchen.  He’d like a word.”

Harry met Hermione’s eyes for a moment before noting his page and closing the book gently.

“Do you have any idea what he wants?” Hermione asked quietly as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room.

Harry shook his head, “Not a clue.”

“Well… you’d better go and see.  Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

“No.  Thanks.”  He wasn’t sure what else to say about it, so he left without another word, feeling Hermione’s eyes on his back until he was out the door.  He made his way down to the kitchen and took a single bracing breath before stepping inside.

He found Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions.  The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike.  A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.

“You wanted to see me?” Harry asked quietly by way of announcing his presence.

“Sit down, Potter,” Snape said perfunctorily.

“You know,” Sirius said loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, “I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t give orders here, Snape.  It’s my house, you see.”

An angry flush rose on Snape’s pale face and Harry clenched his jaw to keep himself from snapping at his godfather.  Sirius really had been better with Snape since Snape had saved his life this last time, but not nearly as much as Harry thought he should.  He sat himself heavily in the chair next to Sirius and refused to look at the man.

“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” Snape drawled with a sneer at Sirius, “but Black-“

“I’m his godfather,” Sirius snapped, louder than ever.

“Sirius!” Harry interjected, not sure if he was more annoyed or embarrassed by his godfather’s behavior.  Honestly, Harry knew third years more mature than this.

Both men looked at him sharply and Harry swallowed discreetly, trying not to blush.  “If Professor Snape wants to talk to me alone, it’s fine,” he said to Sirius as evenly as he could manage, trying to pretend like he couldn’t feel his professor’s steely gaze boring into the side of his head.

“Harry!” Sirius sounded scandalized.  “I’m not going to leave you alone with this greasy-“

“Sirius!” Harry snapped harshly this time, surging back out of his chair and slamming his palm down against the table in front of the stubborn fool masquerading as an adult.  “Professor Snape is _not_ going to hurt me!  If you truly can’t help yourself but to insult him, I’d prefer you did it outside my hearing!  Now will you please leave so that the professor can say what he came to say?”

Sirius stared at Harry with wide, shocked eyes that made Harry want to sigh in sadness.  They’d had this discussion before.  More than once.  Sirius should _not_ be so surprised that Harry didn’t hate his Potions professor.  He knew how grateful Harry felt toward him and how intolerant he was of anyone speaking poorly about him.  Or she _should have_ known.  Harry was really afraid that Sirius wasn’t going to recover from his time in Azkaban.  At least not without professional help.

“Fine, Harry.  Sorry,” Sirius said, sulking out of the room in such a way that he couldn’t have looked more like a kicked puppy if he’d been in his animagus form.

“My, my, Potter.  Such stalwart defense of my honor.  However did I rate such loyalty from the boy hero?” Snape sneered once the door had closed behind Sirius.

Harry sighed and slid back into his chair.  As he’d learned to do since July, Harry let Snape’s words slide over him.  Snape was always going to be a prickly bastard, and Harry was fairly certain the man wouldn’t ever take well to having anyone defend him.  Despite that, the professor’s words had come out sounding much more mild than they used to.  He sounded almost amused rather than disgusted or angered.  “I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry said quietly, dismissing the subject of his godfather as he knew it was one that never failed to get Snape’s back up.  “You wanted to see me?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed and he scrutinized Harry, but he allowed the subject to be redirected.  “The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”

Harry’s brow rose in surprise, but quickly fell again as he nodded.  “To keep me from having any more visions?” he hazarded.

Snape blinked only once, but Harry thought he’d managed to surprise the man anyway.  “You are familiar with the discipline of occlumency?” he posed.

Harry nodded, “I read about it last year.  Who will be teaching me?” he asked, trying to keep the apprehension from coming through.  He was thrilled about the chance to take real lessons.  He’d made some progress on his own, but without anyone to challenge his barriers and thereby show him exactly how to do it, he wasn’t ever going to be good enough to keep out Voldemort.

Snape raised an eyebrow and drawled almost challengingly, “I am.”

Harry sagged slightly in relief.  Snape was harsh with him, yes, but Harry trusted him about as much as he trusted anyone besides Hermione.  Harry noticed that Snape’s brow had drawn down as he studied Harry as though trying to define him.  He cleared his throat uneasily and sat up a little straighter.  “Thank you, sir,” he smiled a little because it felt like some recognition was definitely necessary.  “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

Snape blinked twice this time and he looked more annoyed than anything, but he did give a single, sharp nod to acknowledge Harry’s words.  “I will expect you at six o’clock on Monday evening, Potter.  My office.  If anybody asks, you are taking remedial potions.  Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir,” Harry said again, easily brushing aside the minor insult.  He really had gotten much better at Potions since third year.  He thought he might even manage to get into NEWT potions, but Snape continued to grade him more harshly than any other student, meaning that he was struggling to scrape E’s in that class most of the time.

Snape lifted and eyebrow again and his lips twitched as though he was suppressing a smile, “Yes, Potter.  You said that,” he said dryly before sweeping out the door.

* * *

 

**13 January 1996**

When Harry stepped into Snape’s office for their first Occlumency lesson, his eyes were immediately drawn to the wide basin on the professor’s desk.  It was Dumbledore’s pensieve, he recognized.  He’d seen it in his office.  He had to wonder what it was doing here.

“Shut the door behind you, Potter.”

Harry did as he was told before turning back to see his professor had moved into the light. 

“Well, Potter, you know why you are here.  The headmaster has asked me to teach you occlumency,” Snape said succinctly.  “To begin, I would like you to tell me what you know of it already.”  He glared at Harry in anticipation.

Harry took a breath and nodded, “First, professor, I thought we should exchange oaths.”  He kept his shoulders square and his face solemn but polite.  He wanted his professor to take him seriously, especially when it came to this.  Because Harry _did_ trust Snape.  And he trusted that he was loyal to Dumbledore.  That was what had him scared.

Snape’s customary frown deepened and for a long moment, he just stared at Harry, who refused to fidget under the dark gaze.  “It appears you know more than I suspected,” he said at last, then gave a slow nod.  “An exchange of oaths would be acceptable.”  He leaned over his desk and quickly scribbled something on a piece of parchment.  When he was finished, he waved his wand to dry the ink, then extended it toward Harry.  “Will this wording suffice?”

Harry accepted the parchment and looked over the lines scratched in Snape’s distinctive scrawl.

_I, [full name], do swear that all that is learned or imparted in the process of learning/instructing occlumency with [full name] shall remain as sacred and secret between us two until and beyond death unless explicit permission to the contrary is given directly from [full name] and none other. So mote it be._

It was taken directly from _The Occluded Mind_ by Devarius MacDougal, a book Harry had found in Sirius’ library last year.  “It’s good,” Harry nodded.

“Well?” Snape sneered when Harry just looked at him.  “After you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry just nodded and drew his wand.  He read through the wording one more time to be sure he had it all perfect, then lifted his wand and recited it.  He knew that occlumency training often resulted in memories from the trainer’s mind being exposed as well, so he had no problem giving the reciprocal vow.  Snape had just as much right to his privacy as Harry had, though he supposed that might explain the presence of the pensieve if Snape hadn’t been planning on exchanging oaths.

Harry handed the parchment back when he’d finished and Snape tossed it into the fire before lifting his own wand and reciting the vow.

“Very well.  _Now,_ Mr. Potter, if you would be so generous as to share with me what you know of occlumency.  I’m sure the task isn’t overly difficult, even for someone of your meager intellect.”

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  Honestly, Snape seemed willfully ignorant of the fact that Harry’s marks had been in the top ten of his class on last year’s exams and top five in the end of term exams this year.  Only Hermione, Malfoy, and Terry Boot from Ravenclaw had ranked above him.

Instead of talking back, he reminded himself – as he sometimes had to do several times a day – of exactly what this man had done for him.  What he’d saved him from.  Why he deserved nothing less than complete respect from Harry, even when he felt like being a dick, which was admittedly almost all the time he was around Harry.  “I’ve read _The Occluded Mind_ by Devarius MacDougal,” Harry admitted, “which had that vow in it.  I’ve also read _The Darkest Shade, Intermediate Occlumency_ by Vane Stanis and _Deception, One Man’s Journey_ by Barney Tells.  I started trying to teach myself occlumency last year.  Just before the Tournament started, actually.  I know I’m not very good, yet.  I’ve never had anyone to practice against besides…” his throat closed up on the rest of his words and he gagged down a swallow.  Voldemort had torn his mind to shreds on a daily basis that week.  Harry still didn’t know if the Dark Lord had been looking for something or just tormenting him.

Snape just nodded, thankfully not requiring him to finish.  “The Dark Lord is one of the most highly skilled Legilimens alive today,” he said quietly, his dark eyes as intense as always as the bore into Harry.  “Though, as I hope you’ve gleaned in all that reading, it is usually necessary for a legilimens to be in the same room as his… victim… even to maintain eye contact…” he trailed off and examined Harry for a long moment.  “The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter.  The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord.”

Harry swallowed hard and fought through another swallow as he dropped himself into one of the chairs next to Snape’s desk.  He’d expected this.  He’d known it, really.  It was the only explanation.  To hear someone else say it though…  Dumbledore knew this, of course.  He was the one who’d ordered these lessons.  He’d probably always known it, the bastard.  At least since second year, for sure.

“The evidence suggests that at times when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable,” Snape continued in that quiet voice of his that somehow managed to be even more unnerving than when he yelled, “when you are asleep, for instance, you are sharing the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions.  The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue.”

Harry snorted.  He really couldn’t help it.  Dumbledore had decided that it was inadvisable for the Dark Lord to continue snooping around in Harry’s mind at his leisure?  He’d gone ahead and decided that, had he?  Bloody wanker.

“He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord,” Snape continue, though his voice had taken on an extra bite after Harry’s snort.

Harry swallowed the urge to sick up and inquired softly, “Does the headmaster know why I saw through the eyes of the snake?”  Harry had his own suspicions and he was certain that the headmaster did as well, but he was curious as to whether he could learn what Dumbledore was thinking.

Snape eyed him, looking something between thoughtful and suspicious.  One of his slim fingers rose to trace idly around his mouth, drawing Harry’s eyes to the thin lips that he suddenly found unaccountably distracting.  “He believes,” Snape said slowly as though weighing every word, “that that is where the Dark Lord’s mind was at the time.  He believes that the Dark Lord was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it, too.  But this time, he was aware of you.”

“Voldemort realized I was there?” Harry’s eyes widened.  He hadn’t realized that.

“ _Do not speak his name_!” Snape hissed viciously.

Harry blinked, realizing what he’d said.  He didn’t even think about it most of the time, but he knew that Snape hated to hear it.  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said genuinely.

He saw Snape swallow and look away as he recollected himself.  He turned his gaze back to the pensieve between them on the desk and took a slow, deep breath before picking it up and moving it to the cabinet.  “As we’ve exchanged oaths, I do not believe this shall be necessary,” he said dismissively as he closed it away, but his eyes were hard when he looked back at Harry, as though daring him to prove him wrong.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly for lack of anything else to say.

Snape nodded and stepped around his desk, gesturing for Harry to stand.  “I am going to attempt to break into your mind,” he began softly.  “We are going to see how well you resist.  I am aware of how well you resist the Imperius Curse.  You will find that similar powers are needed for this.  Brace yourself, now… Legilimens!”

Harry felt his rudimentary shields shatter embarrassingly quickly under the assault, and though Snape was infinitely more gentle than Voldemort, the reminder of that week he spent as the Dark Lord’s prisoner was still stark enough to make him physically ill.

The fact that that had come instantly to mind meant that those were the memories Snape was seeing.

Harry was lying naked and bruised on the floor in front of Voldemort, surrounded by a ring of jeering Death Eaters.  His body was trembling uncontrollably from the multiple rounds of Cruciatus he’d experienced in the last few hours.  There was pain and humiliation and terror and helplessness, but it had all drifted into the distance over the hours they’d tortured him.  Now, he was mostly numb.  Waiting and hoping that Voldemort would soon grow bored and decide to kill him so that it could be over.

“Walden, I believe it is your turn,” Voldemort crooned and Harry shifted his eyes without moving his head to look at the beast of a man who would take him next.  He closed his eyes as the man opened his robe and his trousers.  The next thing he knew, large, hot hands were groping at him.

Harry came back to Snape’s office as his knees collided painfully with the floor and his vision swam into focus just in time for him to see his own vomit splatter across the stones between where his hands braced himself.

He was shuddering and gasping for air by the time he managed to cease trying to gag up more that his stomach did not possess.  Snape silently vanished the puddle of sick and Harry forced his violently trembling body to sit back on his heels rather than collapsing to the floor as he wished.  The last thing he wanted to be after that memory was lying on the floor while someone stood over him, even if it was Professor Snape.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he breathed.  “I just need a minute.  I haven’t…  Haven’t let myself think about that, since…  I’m sorry.”  He struggled to control the violent tremors seizing his muscles and making it difficult to stay upright and impossible to stand.

He blinked when a bottle was abruptly shoved into his face and flinched back before he comprehended the writing on the bottle.  Calming Draught.  He accepted it with a shaking hand and a whispered gratitude and quickly uncorked the bottle to swig it down.

Almost immediately he felt the tremors begin to subside.  “Sorry, sir,” he muttered again as he finally felt able to push himself back to his feet.

Snape waved a dismissive hand when Harry looked at him again.  “Your apologies aren’t necessary, Potter.  It’s to be expected, in your case, I’m afraid.  I rather doubt it will be the last time that happens.”

Harry shuddered again, pretty convinced that his professor was right about that.  He wasn’t looking forward to more of this and he was certain that the nightmares that were just starting to fade would be back with a vengeance after this.  He reminded himself quickly that he trusted Snape and that he wanted to learn this more than almost anything.  He wanted to be able to protect himself from Voldemort.

With a slow, deep, calming breath, Harry urged his mind to clear of all emotion so that he could properly focus.  That last time had caught him unaware with just how strong the reminder of his time with Voldemort had been. 

* * *

 

**14 February 1996**

“Hey, Harry!”

The summoned boy and his two companions paused on their way to the Three Broomsticks.  They’d been wandering around for hours and were more than ready to have a break and a butterbeer or three.

Cedric smiled as he jogged to catch up with them.  “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked Harry, then almost hesitantly added, “Alone.”

“Sure,” Harry nodded at once.  He couldn’t imagine what Cedric wanted, though he imagined it must have to do with the DA because they didn’t have much else to talk about.  “You guys go ahead.” He nodded to Luna and Hermione.

Though Hermione looked slightly hesitant, they left him alone.

“So?” Harry asked curiously as he turned his full attention to the older boy.

“Walk with me?” Cedric smiled hopefully, turning his body in the direction he clearly wished to go.

Harry nodded and let Cedric lead him out of the village in the direction of the school.  Had it been almost anyone else, Harry may have worried for a setup of some kind, but Cedric Diggory was about as far from a Death Eater as it was possible to get, and the boy didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body.  Add to that the way he’d been practically fawning over Harry all year because he felt guilty about the Third Task, and Harry was sure he had nothing to worry about.

“Did you actually want to talk or just take a walk in silence?” Harry joked as they approached the Shrieking Shack with the other boy still having said nothing.

Cedric chuckled a bit and for the first time he sounded somewhat nervous.  “Yeah, I did.  I’m just… not quite sure how to start,” he admitted.

Harry nodded and backed off the humor in deference the other boy’s unease.  He was starting to wonder if this had something to do with Cho.  Had Cedric finally noticed the way she stared at Harry?  How she seemed to find excuses to touch him whenever she got close enough?

Finally, when they stood just outside the shack, Cedric coughed a bit and suggested, “Why don’t we sit down?”  A few flicks of his wand banished the snow near the base of a tree, created a bubble of warmth around them, and transfigured a stick on the ground into a comfortable blanket.

Harry made a mental note to learn those spells, because that was just too convenient.

He joined the older boy on the blanket next to the tree and politely waited for him to figure out how to say what he wanted to say.

Finally, Cedric just sighed heavily.  “Maybe it would be easier if I showed you,” he finally decided on.  “Don’t curse me, okay?” he said with a nervous smile.

Before Harry could figure out what the Hell he was talking about, Cedric had quickly leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against Harry’s for just a moment before sitting back.

Harry blinked several times and tried to make sense of that.  Apparently, Cedric wasn’t mad about Cho, but having the same problem, his mind sluggishly supplied.  Harry had noticed that Cho liked him and he hadn’t been too pleased with the fact.  He had managed to entirely miss the fact that Cedric apparently liked him.  It had never even crossed his mind, though in hindsight, it was a better explanation for his behavior than just the Third Task.

“Okay?” Cedric asked, cringing slightly as though he was expecting a blow, be it physical or verbal.

“Ah… What about Cho?” Harry asked first because he was surprisingly not averse to that kiss despite the fact that he hadn’t given much thought to his sexuality before.  Again, hindsight was much clearer.  He’d never felt the desire to let his eyes linger on any of the girls the way they sometimes did on the boys.  He’d spent a lot of time _not_ looking at Oliver Wood in the locker room after quidditch.  Fred and George had never done anything for him.  Maybe he liked darker hair?

He felt like he’d just discovered an entirely new part of himself and he didn’t quite know how to react.

“I broke up with her,” Cedric’s still hesitant voice drew Harry’s mind back toward the present.  “She, ah…  I don’t think she’s actually been that interested in me lately.  And honestly, I’ve been pretty distracted by you recently.”

Harry couldn’t help but admire the way Cedric’s cheeks pinked at the admission.  “Why _me_?” he found himself asking before he realized that the question made him sound either extremely insecure, which he sadly was, or could be construed as him fishing for compliments.

Cedric’s laugh was self-deprecating.  “Really?” he smiled his very pretty smile and rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck.  “I can’t really imagine why anyone _wouldn’t_ like you, Harry,” he informed his lap.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a _shy_ Cedric Diggory.  In all the time he’d known the boy, Cedric had seemed so self-assured.

“Um… So you’re not taking this too badly, but you don’t seem to be taking it too well either,” Cedric said uneasily after a moment of silence.  “You can just tell me if you’re not interested.  I promise I won’t mention it again – to anyone.”

“It’s not that,” Harry said rather more quickly than he’d planned.  “I… honestly haven’t ever really thought about it before,” he admitted, fighting a blush with his budding occlumency shields.  He was pretty sure he succeeded.  He’d been doing very well against Snape lately.

“I could… try to help you figure it out,” Cedric said with a sly smile as he slid himself slightly closer to Harry on the blanket.

Harry’s breath caught at the intrinsic promise in that statement.  “Okay,” he managed to say fairly naturally.

Cedric’s answering smile was breathtaking as he leaned forward to press his lips to Harry’s again.

It was… surprisingly pleasant, Harry acknowledged privately as he let his lips respond however they felt was right.  Cedric’s lips were full and soft and warm and just a little moist as they worked gently against his. 

Then he felt those tantalizing lips part and the barest brush of a hot, wet tongue against his mouth.  Harry’s breath hitched as he opened his mouth to return to favor and Cedric leaned forward a little more, deepening the kiss.  Harry heard himself moan and couldn’t quite be arsed to care as the sweet flavor of the other boy filled his mouth and the slick muscle snaked in to massage against his, to flick teasingly against the roof of his mouth, and to trace over his teeth.

Harry’s arms rose to wrap around the other boy.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to make sure he didn’t pull away, drag him closer, or if he just wanted to touch.  He couldn’t quite bring himself to care about examining his intentions.

Cedric moaned then, too, and leaned forward, using his greater height to maneuver Harry backward until he was resting on the blanket with the larger body hovering millimeters above him.

And just like that, though he knew this was completely different, his mind flashed back to his only previous experiences with a larger body lurking above him like this.  His breath caught again, and not in a good way this time.  Before he’d even had time to think of it, he’d twisted his leg for leverage and roughly rolled them over so that Cedric was beneath him. 

“Gods, yes,” Cedric gasped and the needy, breathy two syllables were all that was necessary to push away the flash of memory and return Harry to the much more pleasant present.  Feeling more comfortable and even more aroused by the new orientation, Harry leaned down this time and locked his mouth over the willing one below him.

Another moan was torn from the throat beneath him and this one was so desperate and wanton that an answering sound was wrenched from Harry instantly and his hips bucked forward.  He almost whimpered as his suddenly straining erection came into contact with his companion’s hip, providing glorious friction.

With a strangled sound of pleasure, Cedric bucked up and Harry changed the angle of his leg between the older boy’s thighs to provide him the same relief Harry was taking.

He had no idea how long that lasted as their tongues tangled and they thrust into each other, so completely lost to the pleasure and novelty of the situation, but it ended with strangled cries and a sticky mess in both their pants.

Breathing heavily, Harry rolled himself off the other boy and spent a minute staring up at the sporadic clouds and listening to Cedric’s heavy breathing begin to slow.

“So what do you think?” Cedric asked at last.

Harry tipped his head to look at the madly grinning older boy and managed a small grin of his own.  “Not bad,” he admitted.  “Not too bad at all.”

“So…?” he asked hopefully.

Harry sighed at the tone.  “I… I honestly don’t know if I can handle a relationship, right now, Cedric,” he admitted regretfully.  Between Umbridge’s detentions, Snape’s rather painful lessons in occlumency, Dumbledore’s eerie aversion toward him, and the renewed nightmares that never let him get a full night of sleep, Harry really didn’t feel like he had much to offer anyone.

“It wouldn’t have to be anything official,” Cedric responded almost immediately.  “We don’t have to go on dates or anything.  Un-unless you want to.  We could just… um… meet to relieve tension…”

Harry was powerless to prevent the snort of amusement at that turn of phrase, “Cedric Diggory,” he said in mock chastisement, “are you suggesting we use each other for sex?”  Harry felt a little uncomfortable saying such a thing out loud, but his occlumency allowed him to pretend that he didn’t.  Watching the golden boy of Hufflepuff blush right to the roots of his hair was completely worth it.

“I… er…  I didn’t mean it like that,” he said weakly, though he was smiling.

“In that case,” Harry laughed at the older boy, “I suppose I could use the help relieving tension.”

Cedric’s smile was brilliant in response to that, embarrassment evidently forgotten.

Harry leaned up to kiss that irresistible smile.  He grimaced immediately after as he was reminded of the mess in his pants.  Knowing that he wasn’t going to walk back to Hogwarts like that, he drew his wand and pondered how uncomfortable a scourgify would be on that particular body part.

“ _Abluo_ ,” Cedric offered, apparently guessing his line of thought.  Before Harry could ask for a clarification, the other boy gave his own wand a gentle twirl over his groin and the wet patch vanished.  “It’s very gentle.  Good for… sensitive areas,” he smirked.

Harry nodded and copied the spell on himself.  It was as simple as it looked and he had no difficulty with it.  Now feeling wonderfully clean and dry once more, Harry smiled as he sat up fully.  “Well, as… enjoyable as this has been…  I really do have to get back to Luna and Hermione before they think I’ve been kidnapped.”  He bit off the last word with a grimace and wished he hadn’t even thought it.  Merlin, he was sick of fighting off flashbacks.

Cedric had apparently caught on just as quickly because he went rather pale and said nothing as they both stood.  He removed the transfiguration on the blanket, letting it revert to a stick, then dispelled the localized warming charm, letting the icy February wind remind them they were outdoors.

“So, ah… Are we keeping this a secret?” Cedric asked cautiously, gesturing vaguely between the two of them.

Harry grimaced a bit, “I don’t know.  Are you comfortable being speculated about on the front page of the _Prophet_?”

Cedric grimaced, too, nodding his understanding, then took a breath and squared his shoulders.  “I don’t care,” he said determinedly, “but I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

Harry shrugged and waved it away.  “It wouldn’t be all that different from the garbage they’re writing about me now,” he admitted, “but with the way they’ve been treating me this year, you’d better be ready to share every dirty secret they can find about you with the whole wizarding world.”

“I don’t have any dirty secrets,” Cedric grinned, “but I suppose we could make a few together if you want.”

Harry fought a blush and elbowed the other boy gently.  “Well, my image couldn’t actually get much worse at this point,” he dismissed.

“So does that mean we’re _not_ keeping it a secret?” Cedric asked hopefully.

Harry gave it a bit of thought, but he really couldn’t be arsed to care what the _Prophet_ had to say about his love life.  They did enough speculating about it even when he didn’t _have_ a love life.  He was honestly a little worried about how Cedric might take it, having not had to deal with that sort of thing before – not on this scale, at least.  Saying that you didn’t care was something different to actually not caring when the entire Great Hall was gossiping about the latest bit of trash published in the national paper.  At least he knew that homosexuality wasn’t the major taboo in the wizarding world that it was in the muggle world.  Homosexuals were in the minority in the wizarding world as well, but they didn’t inspire gawking and hatred like in the majority of the muggle world.  So while it would be a scandal, it wouldn’t be _that_ big of one.

“We’re not,” Harry relented.  He felt it was worth it when he was rewarded by another of those blinding smiles.

“Does that mean I can do this in public?” Cedric posed, leaning down to steal a steamy kiss.

Harry swallowed and tried to ignore his body’s immediate reaction.  It didn’t seem to care that it had just been appeased like five minutes ago.  “I guess it does,” Harry admitted.

“Can I walk you back to your friends?” Cedric posed.

Harry nodded with a small smile and they started back.  After a few seconds, Cedric’s arm came to rest on his shoulders and Harry instinctively shrugged it off.

“Not okay?” Cedric asked warily.

Harry gave him a facsimile of a smile and shook his head.  “Makes me feel trapped,” he whispered and Cedric’s eyes widened.

“Not okay, then.  Got it,” he nodded immediately, thankfully asking no questions.

Harry counted his blessings that the tale of exactly what he’d gone through when he’d been captured hadn’t ever made public knowledge.  Though he’d told the whole story to Dumbledore and Fudge right after he’d woken up in the hospital wing, he hadn’t ever heard anyone else hint at the fact that he’d been… that they’d done _that_ to him.  He hoped that Cedric was just thinking about the fact that Harry had been held prisoner.

After walking for a bit in silence, just as they were entering the village again, Cedric cautiously threaded his fingers through Harry’s.

Harry just gave them a small squeeze and allowed the contact, which made the older boy smile.  Harry easily ignored the looks they got when people noticed their linked hands.  Of course, everyone was interested in who Harry might choose to hold hands with.  When they reached the Three Broomsticks, they paused and faced each other, hands still together.

“I should leave you here,” Cedric admitted with a small grimace.  “I’m sure you want to talk to your friends and I really do need to do some shopping before I go back to school.”

Harry nodded, concealing his relief.  He liked Cedric and he _really_ liked the kissing and touching and everything, but he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he couldn’t handle a relationship.  He would be glad to get a little space to think about how he felt about all of this.

“Can I kiss you?” Cedric asked very quietly so as to avoid being overheard by the more than a few people pretending not to be watching them avidly.

In answer, Harry put his hand behind Cedric’s neck and dragged him down for a brief but very nice kiss, silently cursing his short height and Cedric’s freakish tallness at the same time.

Cedric was smiling that brilliant smile again as they parted.  “I’ll see you later,” he grinned, finally wandering off when Harry released his hand.

Harry just shook his head with a slight smile and let himself into the Three Broomsticks where a pair of wolf-whistles immediately informed him that the twins were in there and had witnessed the kiss.  He quickly found Hermione and Luna at a table in the back.  Hermione was smiling and blushing at the same time, but she looked happy enough.  Luna didn’t look like she was paying any attention to what was going on, but somehow Harry suspected that she’d known before he had.  She had a tendency to do that.

With a sigh, he started toward them, glad that he’d learned how to control the urge to blush and hoping they wouldn’t have too many invasive questions for him.  He briefly lamented the fact that both of his best friends had to be girls and therefore incomprehensible.


	4. Chapter 4

**18 June 1996**

“Oh, Gods, I needed this,” Harry breathed happily, bracing himself against the wall of the well-warded empty classroom and tipping his head down so that he could watch his cock disappear between Cedric’s gorgeous lips.  After a long two weeks of OWLs, he was finally finished.  Cedric had finished his NEWTs a few days ago, but as per their “arrangement” Cedric was very kindly helping him to relieve the stress heaped on by the tests on top of everything else.

Though Harry was doing well in occlumency now, Snape was determined to continue the lessons right up until Harry left for the year, pushing him harder and harder every time.  Dumbledore wouldn’t so much as glance at him and Harry wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for the lack of attention or unnerved about the reason for which the old man might be avoiding him so stridently.  Now he wasn’t in the school at all anymore.  Umbridge was as sadistic as ever, though he’d gotten better at avoiding her detentions as his growing skill with occlumency allowed him to control his temper better.  Perhaps most unnerving of all, however, was Voldemort.  Though Harry was no longer subject to visions from the Dark Lord’s mind, he couldn’t help the feelings of frustration and impatience that had been steadily building in the back of his mind.  It was enough to leave him permanently on edge.

Except, of course, for when Cedric helped him to forget everything but how wonderful he could feel.  The older boy had been as good as his word, expecting nothing “couply” from Harry over the last few months despite being open in their affections and their increasingly physical relationship.  Harry had officially lost his virginity last month.  He’d “topped” of course.  He still couldn’t handle being underneath Cedric and he couldn’t even consider taking it in the arse without feeling panicky.  Luckily, Cedric seemed exceedingly happy to “bottom”, so it hadn’t been a problem.

The worst part of being with Cedric so far had been the one day Snape had gotten an unintentional eyeful during their occlumency lessons.  It had been the very day after he’d first officially had sex and it had been on Harry’s mind a little too much.  He’d failed to keep the blush away after pushing Snape out of his head to find the man staring at him with a completely unreadable expression.  Harry would have felt worse about that if Snape’s cheeks hadn’t been the slightest bit red as well.  Snape had given him a few minutes to get his mind onto something else and they’d continued without ever mentioning the incident, thankfully.

“Fuck, Cedric…” Harry gasped when the older boy loosened his throat and slid all the way down until his lips were pressed to the thick patch of hair at the base of Harry’s cock.  Cedric was incredibly good at this.  Harry had picked up a few tricks, but he still couldn’t take it into his throat like that.  “Oh…  Oh, I want to fuck you,” Harry breathed through the pleasure.

Cedric seemed to like that idea based on how his mouth was suddenly withdrawn and his hands were fumbling with his belt.

Harry groaned at the sudden loss of sensation, but didn’t complain as Cedric dropped his trousers and pants and bent himself over the dusty old table.  “You look so hot like this, Cedric,” Harry muttered as he gripped the smooth cheeks and pulled them apart gently.  The older boy moaned as Harry ran a thumb over his puckered hole.

“Please, Harry,” Cedric gasped.

Harry smiled just a little.  He’d discovered that he quite liked the way Cedric begged.  It was a kink that had alarmed him at first, but he’d gotten over that since Cedric seemed to enjoy it just as much.  Pressing his thumb more firmly to the tight opening, Harry whispered the spells his lover had taught him, one to loosen the muscle and another to lubricate.  They’d experimented with manual preparation as well, of course, but they didn’t often have that much time as most of their meetings took place between classes in a hastily warded public room.

Harry’s smile widened as the magic flowed easily.  He’d discovered that he could do these spells without his wand kind of by accident.  In the heat of the moment, he hadn’t even realized he’d done it until after, when he’d looked for his wand to clean them up and realized that it had never left his pocket, which was in his clothes across the room.  He’d practiced other wandless magic since, but none had come quite so easily as this.  He suspected it was the result of superior motivation.

After quickly repeating the lubrication charm on his cock, Harry slid slowly, carefully into the older boy.  When he was fully seated, he forced himself to remain still, leading forward to kiss Cedric’s neck while he waited for the boy to give him the go-ahead to continue.  Thankfully, it was only a few seconds before the moaned, “Please, more, please,” came from beneath him. 

He, of course, obliged.  He picked up his pace gradually, making certain that his lover had a chance to adjust.  It took a minute to settle himself at the perfect angle, and he knew he’d found it when Cedric keened.  Grinning in elation, Harry took hold of the older boy’s hips and began pounding faster and harder directly into his lover’s prostate, taking almost as much pleasure in the sounds he was wringing from him as the glorious friction was providing his hard flesh.

As much as they both enjoyed the more leisurely couplings they could indulge on the rare nights they met after curfew in the Room of Requirement, Harry knew they didn’t have the time now.  All they needed was to get caught by the toad or her Slytherin lackeys.

Within ten minutes, Harry felt his release approaching the point of no return and he quickly reached around his lover to take his cock in hand and ensure that they could finish together.  Only a few quick pulls and Cedric spilled over his hand, clenching around Harry and sending him over the edge as well.

There was little time for conversation after, but they did share a passionate kiss before Cedric snuck out first.  Harry took a few extra minutes to make absolutely certain that there was no evidence of their activities either in the room or on his person.  Satisfied, he took his leave.

He probably should have worn his cloak, but being that it wasn’t even dinner time, much less after curfew, he hadn’t thought it was necessary.  He discovered that he was, in fact, wrong on that account when he almost immediately found himself in the clutches of the vile toad.  He’d done nothing wrong, but she’d told him to follow her to her office and he couldn’t refuse or she’d just give him a detention, effective immediately, and then he’d have to follow her or be expelled for “refusing to submit to disciplinary measures”.

So, he willingly followed her into her office.  She pointed him to a chair then settled her own overly large arse into her pink monstrosity of a chair.

Harry tried to ignore the constant mewing from the painted felines covering the office.

“Have a cup of tea, Mr. Potter,” she simpered at him.

Harry managed to restrain his are-you-fucking-serious? expression only with the application of his occlumency shields.  Instead, he forced an approximation of a polite smile on his face.  “Thank you, ma’am, but I’m really not thirsty.”

Her “sweet” smile faltered.  “It’s only polite to share a cup of tea with your professor, Potter.  You wouldn’t want to be impolite, would you?”  Her tone made it very clear that it wasn’t optional but cemented in his mind the fact that the tea was tainted.  He didn’t know if it was veritaserum, some kind of compulsion or suggestion potion, or good old-fashioned poison, but he’d let himself get expelled before he would drink it.

“I’m terribly sorry, Professor, but I’ve been feeling a little under the weather.  I don’t think my stomach could take any tea right now,” he lied smoothly, something else that had become enormously easier with occlumency.

“Drink it, Potter!” she finally snapped.

He started and played up the flinch, letting the cup slip from his fingers and crash to the floor, cracking the china and spilling the liquid.

“I’m so sorry, Professor!” he burst out at once even though he knew even the dim toad would see through that ruse.

“You think you’re clever, Potter?” she snarled, scrambling out of her chair and drawing her wand – looking not a little bit mad.  “Insubordination,” she muttered to herself, nodding along as though to the plan forming in her mind.  “Insurrection.  …sedition.  That’s what it is.”

Harry started to ease himself out of his chair when he realized that she sounded a lot like she was trying to justify something really bad.

“Desperate times,” she nodded to herself again.  “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Potter.  I am a patriot and I will not let you and Dumbledore destroy this great nation.”

If Harry hadn’t been so frightened of her intentions, he’d have snorted at the idea that the corrupt ministry could be considered a “great” anything.  Not to mention how everyone seemed to think he was Dumbledore’s little lap dog when he couldn’t stand the man.

He was just beginning to reach for his wand, concern that she’d give him detention every night for the rest of the year if he pulled his wand on her warring against the fear that she meant to do him more harm than a dozen detentions ever could.

She hissed out the spell before he could realize the severity of her intention.  “ _Crucio_!”

The pain brought him immediately to his knees, but it took only a pair of seconds to realize that, while it was inordinately painful, it was an order of magnitude weaker than the same spell cast by Voldemort or Bellatrix.  He was able to think through the pain well enough to finish drawing his own wand and gasp out a hasty, “ _Expelliarmus_!”

His spell hit straight on and he saw her eyes grow very wide.  She probably hadn’t thought anyone capable of casting while held under the torture curse.  He’d been distracted enough that he’d not paid attention to how much power he put behind the curse and even he was a little surprised when the force of it not only knocked away her wand, but tossed her obese arse into the air.

To his shock, she impacted against the window and went right through it.

Scrambling to his feet despite the lingering tremors of the torture curse, Harry rushed to the window and looked down.  His eyes opened wide in disbelief when he found her.  She’d fallen the three stories and landed on a bench.  She was almost folded over it, her back and neck obviously broken by the angles at which they lay, and there was a large and growing puddle of blood beneath her.

Harry did the only thing he could think to do.  He turned and ran, using every secret passage he knew in order to reach Snape’s office in record time.  He pounded on the door, grateful that he hadn’t passed anyone on the way down.  It was a beautiful day, so most people were outside.  It wouldn’t be long before someone found her.

“ _What_?!” was snarled at him as the door was yanked open.

Harry looked up at Snape, praying that the man would know what to do.  “I killed her,” he managed to gasp out.

Snape blinked, his face going blank.  He leaned out of the office to quickly glance up and down the empty corridor, then all but dragged Harry back inside and closed the door, flicking his wand through locking and silencing spells.  “Whom did you kill?” he then demanded very coolly.

“Umbridge,” Harry gulped.

Snape’s eyes widened and his wand snapped up.

Harry felt the man crash into his mind and quickly dropped his barriers.  He didn’t have to call up the desired memory because it was very much at the front of his mind.  Snape pushed back from the incident itself to watch what had happened from the moment he’d entered her office.

When he left Harry’s mind, he immediately turned to the fireplace and grabbed a pinch of floo powder.  “Ministry of Magic, Auror Office,” he barked out as soon as the flames burned green.

While Harry waited, trusting in Snape to know what was best, he found a chair and curled up on it, tucking his arms around his legs and burying his face in his raised knees.  How many people had Harry killed now, anyway?  Three?  Or Four?  He didn’t know if Tom Riddle in the diary counted.  It hadn’t really been alive, but it had seemed sentient.  Quirrell was a definite.  Whatever Dumbledore claimed about Voldemort killing him as the specter left his body, Harry remembered that night.  His touch had burned Quirrell terribly and Harry had held on.  He’d deliberately held him until he’d stopped moving, stopped fighting, stopped breathing.  Only then had Voldemort left him.  Then there was Dudley last summer.  Harry hadn’t killed him directly, but he’d hesitated long enough for the dementor to devour his soul, so that was as good as.

And now Umbridge.

He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that he couldn’t make himself feel the smallest bit badly about it.  She may not have been a Death Eater, but that woman was a monster.  Even Quirrell he’d felt some guilt for.  It had seemed to him that the man was more of an idiot than a bad person.  He’d let Voldemort possess him and then he’d been trapped.  Umbridge though…  She was a true sadist.  Nothing less could have taken such pleasure in watching him hurt himself over and over again.  And he wasn’t the only student.  She’d gotten most of Gryffindor House’s upper years at least once and he didn’t know how many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.  As far as he knew, Slytherin House was all clever enough to lick her boots and remain in the crazy woman’s favor.

And now she was dead.  Because of him.

Perhaps the most unnerving part of the whole experience was the virtual certainty that she would not be the last life he ended, directly or indirectly.  Voldemort was alive.  War was coming.  And, like it or not, he was at the heart of it because Voldemort wasn’t going to stop until Harry was dead.

Well, that and the fact that the Ministry had spent the entire last year looking for any reason to chuck him in Azkaban and lose the key and now he’d killed a highly ranked Ministry employee.

He cast a look at the black back of Severus Snape where he was crouched in front of his hearth, and then buried his face in his knees again.  There was no way this was going to end well.

* * *

 

**1 July 1996**

Harry shivered in the dark, icy cell that had been his home for the last week and would continue to be for the foreseeable future.  Despite Snape alerting the aurors friendly to Dumbledore, the investigation did not go in Harry’s favor.  With the majority of the wizarding world ready to believe almost any horrible thing about him after a year of the Prophet’s libelous articles, Fudge hadn’t had a hard time turning the trial against him.  The woman had used an Unforgiveable on him.  He’d fought back with a disarming charm.  Her death was an accident.  Despite all of this, the entire judicial process from investigation to conclusion of the trial had been exactly one week.

He’d been tossed in here on the 24th of June.  One year to the day after he was abducted by Voldemort.  The real irony was that the Ministry never would have put him in this position if he hadn’t been abducted by Voldemort.  If he hadn’t told the truth about it and refused to recant.

The only point in Harry’s favor at the moment was that he’d been working on the animagus transformation for a couple of months now, utilizing the mental discipline learned in occlumency to speed through the meditation needed for the animagus transformation to be learned.  He’d not been able to transform prior to his incarceration, but he was relatively close. 

He was fully intent on following his godfather’s example on this.  There was no chance he was going to wait around and hope that justice would eventually prevail.  He’d seen how well that worked for Sirius.  Harry was going to get himself out of here.

* * *

 

**8 August 1996**

An occlumentic meditation, Harry had discovered through pure necessity, made the presence of the dementors bearable for him.  They still conjured his worst memories, most of which centered around his week with Voldemort, though he sometimes saw his mother’s death and a few forgotten memories with the Dursleys from his early childhood, before he learned how to take care of himself as well as they would allow.  As terrifying as watching his mother die was, it was much worse going from loving parents to hateful strangers and not understanding why he couldn’t see his parents and why they shouted and slapped and shook him and locked him away in the dark even when his stomach cramped with hunger and his nappy was wet and cold and his bottom sore.  It was no wonder he’d blocked out those first years from his conscious memory.

Through occlumentic meditation, however, he was able to pull himself back from the memories and view them as in a pensieve.  He still saw them, but as an outside observer rather than fully reliving the worst moments of his life.  It was that ability that had kept him sane in here.

It wasn’t just the dementors that drove one to the edge in this place.  It was the isolation.  Being locked alone in a cell that he could never leave and no one ever entered.  It was the cold.  Shivering day and night on the hard stone floor so that one could never properly sleep or even relax.  That alone would be enough to drive a person to the edge of sanity.  That’s when they threw in dementors repeatedly sending you into your worst memories, and eventually, that pushed just about everyone over the edge.

Harry hung onto his sanity with the meditation to keep the memories at a distance and by spending his every spare moment working toward achieving his animagus form.  It helped a lot that he believed he would get out of here soon.  As soon as he could achieve his form.  He already knew what form he would take and he knew that he would be able to easily slip through the bars once he’d completed the transformation, and he was making progress.  It was slower than it would have been had he not been distracted by hunger and exhaustion and dementors, but it was progress.

* * *

 

**13 August 1996**

Grateful that no one had ever figured out how Sirius escaped and thusly that they hadn’t improved on security, Harry slithered between the sightless dementor guards who could not properly sense him as an animal.  This form did not appreciate the cold that permeated the island and his whole body ached with it, but he pushed on, forcing himself to keep moving.

It seemed to take forever to get out of the prison and down to the shore.  Transforming back, Harry did a quick four-point spell to make sure he was pointed the right direction.  When he’d first begun studying wandless magic last year, he’d never imagined such a need for it as this, but he was grateful, nevertheless.  He hadn’t mastered any real dueling spells, but he could do some simple spells, such as the direction spell, a warming spell, and a bubble-head charm, and those were the three that he used now before throwing himself into the sea.

By the time Harry reached the other side, he was once again freezing and more exhausted than he’d ever been in his life.  He couldn’t stop yet though.  This is exactly the area they would search when they discovered that he was missing and he had no idea when that might be.  It could have happened already or it might be several days.  Happily, it was much warmer now that he’d put Azkaban behind him.  His sodden clothes weren’t helping, but he didn’t know if he could manage a drying charm and didn’t care enough to try at the moment.  Instead, he cast another warming charm, then shifted back into his other form.  Even if they did figure out that he’d used an animagus form to escape, no one in the entire world would ever guess that his form would be a snake, of all things.

Well… Snape might.  After their occlumency lessons, that man probably understood him better than anyone else alive.  Happily, he wouldn’t be telling anyone that might mean Harry harm.

* * *

 

**23 August 1996**

Harry slithered up the hand rail on the front step of the Fidelius-protected house and pulled the bell chord as he didn’t even want to try to reach the knocker and wasn’t masochistic enough to use his body to pound on the door.

He heard the reassuring sound of Mrs. Black’s portrait screaming obscenities.  He waited, but no answer came.  He began to grow concerned, now.  Sirius was _always_ at headquarters.  After a while longer, he decided there was nothing for it.  He was going to have to go in himself.  He took a careful look around, but he couldn’t see anything suspicious or alarming anywhere on the street.  He thought that the doorstep was hidden by the Fidelius, but he wasn’t entirely sure.  Deciding that he’d have to risk it, he transformed very quickly and immediately reached for the handle, which opened easily.

He let himself inside and promptly closed the door behind him.

“Who are you?”

Harry started at the calm, sane question issued by the portrait that he’d only ever heard screaming madly.  He blinked at the thing, astonished that it didn’t recognize him.  Then he realized he must look frightful after almost two months in Azkaban followed by two weeks living mostly as a snake as he traveled across England and then London to get here.  His hair had grown and was both filthy and snarled.  He’d even started growing facial hair during his incarceration, and had a small, scruffy, patchy beard.

He chose to ignore the portrait for now, not wanting to listen to her start up again the moment she realized his identity.

He took one step into the entryway and Kreacher appeared before him with a pop.  “Foul master has come home,” he bowed while muttering none too quietly.

“Master?” Harry asked incredulously, wondering if the elf had finished going mad while he was gone.

“Yes, Master?  Would nasty halfblood master require something of Kreacher?”

Harry stared in slowly mounting horror as it occurred to him the only reason he could be Kreacher’s master.  “Kreacher, what happened to Sirius?” he asked gravely, “I order you to tell me the truth and nothing more.”

The elf struggled for a moment, probably being prevented from spewing his usual filth.  “Master Sirius went out to find Master Harry.  Everyone told him to stay, but Master Sirius was not listening.  He sneaked out at night, he did.  The next morning Kreacher feeled his Master die and he’s now belonging to halfblood master.”

Harry fought down the urge to be sick.  Sirius was dead.  His godfather was dead.  Killed trying to save Harry.  He shouldn’t have been surprised.  Of course, Sirius wouldn’t have wanted to leave Harry there.  He’d have tried to save him even if it was suicide given the Kiss On Sight order still in effect for him.  “Damn you, Sirius,” Harry breathed as his chest ached.

“Is there anyone else here, Kreacher?” he inquired after a moment.

“No, nasty halfblood master,” Kreacher sneered.

The elf was annoying, but Harry was too physically and emotionally exhausted to address it at the moment. 

“Do the Order come here anymore?”

“No one bes coming here since old master got himself killeds.”

Harry nodded, then forced himself to think productively.  He could grieve and feel sorry for himself after he was sure that he was safe.  He didn’t even know if this building was protected by the Fidelius anymore.  He stumbled up the stairs to the second floor library and found some leftover writing supplies on the desk.  He ripped off a piece and scribbled “Headquarters” on it, then called Kreacher.

“Take this to Severus Snape,” he instructed the elf very clearly.  “Make absolutely certain that he is alone at the time and that you are not seen.  You are not to speak to or in any other way communicate with anyone beyond the delivery of this parchment exactly as it is now.  Do you understand your orders?”

“Kreacher understands,” he sneered.

“You are not, now or ever, allowed to take any action that you believe would bring harm to myself, Severus Snape, or the Order of the Phoenix, nor anything that may benefit Lord Voldemort or any of his followers, including Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy.  If you feel like any action that may cause such harm has been asked of you, you will inform me of your suspicions and explain them.  Should you ever find a way around my orders that may bring harm to _anyone_ without my explicit permission, you will inform me immediately.  Do you understand these orders?”

The sneer tripled in strength.  “Kreacher understands,” he snarled.

“Good,” Harry nodded.  “And finally, you are to treat me with respect and care, exactly as you would treat a master that you considered worthy.”

Kreacher’s face went forcibly blank and he bowed so deeply that his nose brushed the floor.  “Kreacher understands, Master.  Can Kreacher be doing anything else for his master, sir?”

“That will be all for now, Kreacher,” Harry dismissed.  “Inform me when you have delivered the message.”

With another bow, Kreacher disappeared.

Groaning quietly, Harry forced his exhausted body to move, just as he’d been doing for the last two weeks.  He managed to make it up one more floor to a bathroom with a shower in it.  There was no soap, but Harry didn’t rightly care.  Shucking his filthy prison garb, he stepped under the hot spray with a moan of elation.

It wasn’t long before he heard Kreacher pop into the bathroom.  “The message has been delivered, Master.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry replied wearily.  Snape had read enough of his essays over the years that Harry was confident that man would recognize his handwriting and put together the rest.  “Please bring me a clean, dry towel and some soap and shampoo if there is any in the house.”

“Kreacher will, Master,” he heard a moment before there was another pop and the soaps appeared on the little tile shelves right in the shower stall.  Confident that Kreacher could not give him something harmful, Harry put the soaps to good use, scrubbing away layer after layer of grime and filth.  When he was as clean as he thought he would get, he shifted into his animagus form and spent a few minutes washing that form as well and just enjoying the luxury of real warmth for the first time in so long.

Eventually, he shifted and left the shower.  Drying himself with the warm, soft towel, he left the bathroom.  As Kreacher said they were the only ones in the house, he wasn’t concerned for modesty as he made his way to the room he normally shared with Ron when he stayed here, hoping that his trunk might have been left.  Finding the room bare, he headed for Sirius’ bedroom as well.  If there was anything left in the house, Harry figured it would be his godfather’s things.

He felt a pang in his chest when he found the room exactly as he remembered it.  Harry and Sirius hadn’t really gotten along all that well.  Sirius had been so damaged from so many years in Azkaban, and all he’d really wanted was to find his best friend’s son was a chip off the old block.  He’d always had trouble with the fact that Harry wasn’t like his father at all, especially after Voldemort’s resurrection when he’d found it so much more difficult to smile and laugh and have fun with silliness.

None of that changed the fact that he’d been Harry’s godfather.  The man who might have been his family, had things happened differently.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do with the emptiness that had taken up residence in his chest since he’d learned of his godfather’s fate.  The man had died trying to save him despite the fact that they’d never really bonded.  Then again, the idiot had died trying to rescue him from Azkaban when he knew he’d be Kissed on sight.

He shook those confusing thoughts with an effort.  He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.  He was sad and angry and he wasn’t really sure if he had much right to feel either.

Instead of thinking, he forced himself to raid his godfather’s wardrobe for something halfway decent to wear.  He refused to put on the rags they’d put him in when they’d tossed him in that cell.  Luckily, Sirius was taller than him, but otherwise similar in size, so it was only a matter of rolling up the bottom of the black slacks and dark blue shirt he found.  It was all wizarding style, of course.  He found some socks, but the boots had no chance of fitting him.  He wasn’t too concerned for that.  It wasn’t cool in the house, so socks would do fine for the moment.

Now clean and dressed, Harry turned his attention to his next priority.  He was very pleased to find the kitchen still fully stocked.  The Order probably hadn’t wasted any time in vacating this place after Sirius’ death.  Maybe they thought ownership passed on to Bellatrix or something.  Harry wasn’t worried.  He knew enough about warding to understand the fact that he’d not have gotten in had the house not belonged to him.  Not after Sirius’ death.  It would have locked itself down.

Tired as he was, Harry didn’t bother trying to cook anything fancy.  He just fried up some eggs and bacon and toasted a couple slices of bread.  He ate it all with a tall glass of milk, then pillowed his head on his arms on the table top and just tried to rest for a few minutes.

He started awake to the sound of Kreacher popping into the room.  The elf bowed as Harry sat up and rubbed the drool off his cheek with his sleeve.  “Potions Master Snape is being at the door, Master.”

“Show him in,” Harry said quickly, blinking his dry eyes a few times and trying to wake up properly.  The last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep was probably the day before Umbridge died, over a month ago now.

Snape stalked into the kitchen a moment later and stopped in the doorway, his intense gaze raking over Harry several times.  “Potter,” he said at last.  “How did you escape?”

“I’d almost gotten my animagus form figured out before I was arrested,” Harry shrugged.  “It was a little harder to perfect it in Azkaban, but I got it.”

“What is your form?” Snape demanded.

Rather than tell him, Harry just shifted right there.

Snape blinked once, then his lips trembled as though he might smile, though he managed to restrain himself.  “ _Lachesis Muta_ ,” he said after a moment.  “One of the largest breeds of venomous snake in the world, named for one of the Fates.  How incredibly apt, Potter.”

Shifting back, Harry managed a half-smile for his – now former – professor.  “I missed you, sir,” he admitted.

Snape lifted one eyebrow and gave him a rather flat stare.  “The dementors clearly damaged your brain.”

 Harry sobered, “Kreacher told me about Sirius.  Did anyone else die while I was gone?”

“No one you know,” Snape replied without expression.  “What do you plan to do now?”

Harry shrugged.  “There’s no point trying to prove my innocence with the Ministry as it is now.  They’d have me Kissed on sight, I’m sure, now that I’m a fugitive.  Is it safe to stay here?”

“It should be,” Snape nodded thoughtfully.  “The headmaster can reapply the Fidelius.”

Harry swallowed uneasily and cautiously asked, “Would you be my Secret Keeper, sir?”

Snape’s eyes widened in response to the question.  “Why not the headmaster?  Or one of your little friends?”

“I don’t fully trust the headmaster,” Harry admitted quietly, looking down at where his hands rested on the table.  “I found out during the Tournament that he could have gotten me out of it at any time.  There was an amendment to the rules made for that tournament by a committee that Dumbledore was part of.  It stated that no one underage could be forced to participate.  If I’d known, all I would have had to do was immediately refuse the position and I’d have been free of it.  He didn’t tell me.  He…  He sent me to the Dursleys and kept making me go back even knowing how they treat me.  Even right after…  He made me go back and Dudley wouldn’t shut up and I killed him.”

“Potter, your cousin was Kissed by a dementor,” Snape said as though Harry was a complete idiot – not an unusual tone, really. 

“I could have stopped it,” Harry admitted aloud for the first time.  “I cast my patronus in time, but I just…  I hated Dudley _so much_.  I could have saved him, but I didn’t _want to_.  I hesitated, and he died.”

After a long moment of silence, Harry finally dragged his eyes back up to Snape.

The professor was staring at him with a vaguely annoyed expression.  “Potter…!”  He sounded for a moment like he was going to yell, then he just shook his head.  “Fine.  If not the headmaster, then why not _anyone_ else?”

“You’re the only adult I trust,” Harry admitted, somewhat uncomfortably.

Snape blinked once.  Then he shook his head briefly again.  “Very well, Potter.  If you truly wish it, I will be your Secret Keeper.  I will not take it personally should you change your mind, however.  You look like you are likely delirious with exhaustion at the moment.  Get some sleep.  I will alert Albus that you are here safe.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry nodded, dragging his tired body out of the chair.  He was just starting to wonder where he should sleep when Kreacher popped into the room again.

“Kreacher has prepared the master suite for Master, sir,” the elf bowed.

Harry thought about protesting that another room would do, but he found that he was too tired to bother.

“What did you do to that elf?” Snape asked as it popped away.

Harry shrugged, “Ordered him to treat me as he would a master that he considered worthy.”

Snape snorted quietly and swept back out of the house at a speed that Harry could only envy at the moment.  It took him a relative eternity to climb the stairs up to the master suite on the third floor.  Happily, he found the room had been immaculately cleaned – or maybe Kreacher had always kept this one in good shape – and the linens smelled freshly laundered.  He managed to drop his trousers before climbing into the unspeakably comfortable bed. 

Sleep took him within moments.


	5. Chapter 5

**5 October 1996**

Harry took care to be very quiet as he returned to Grimmauld Place a couple hours before dawn.  His attempt at discretion was proven moot when, before he could begin up the stairs, the kitchen door below opened and Dumbledore’s voice called up, “Harry.  Would you join me?”

It didn’t sound optional and the old man did not sound happy.

With a put-upon sigh, Harry turned toward the steps that would lead him down to the kitchen.  It had been a long night and he really just wanted to go to bed now.  The fact that Dumbledore was waiting up for him at whatever ungodly hour of the morning it happened to be probably meant that he was unlikely to be put off, however.

“Yes, sir?” Harry asked politely enough as he entered the kitchen.  He wasn’t surprised to find that it was just the two of them, but it did make him slightly nervous.  He trusted that Dumbledore wanted to bring down Voldemort, but that was as far as Harry’s trust of the old man went.  He remained standing near the door where it would be easier to make a quick exit should that become necessary.

“Have a seat, Harry,” Dumbledore offered amiably.  “Would you care for some tea?”

“No, thank you, headmaster,” Harry declined.  “I’m quite ready for bed, so I’d prefer if we could make this quick.”

Dumbledore sighed that “you’ve really let me down” sigh that he had down so well, but nodded his agreement.  “Where did you go tonight?” he started with.

“Out,” Harry answered curtly.

Blue eyes that were not twinkling looked at Harry over the top of half-moon spectacles.  “Harry, my boy, just because you are not in school does not mean that you’re not subject to discipline.  You are not an adult yet.”

Harry barked a derisive laugh, “Headmaster, I’m a fugitive from the law.  Are you honestly telling me that I have to mind some sort of legal guardian?  That doesn’t seem at all contrary to you?”

“I want you to understand your situation, Harry,” Dumbledore said gravely.  “You’re not on a holiday, here.  You cannot come and go as you please…”

The condescension was too much for Harry, who cut the old man off with a harsh laugh.  “Oh, I understand just fine, Professor.  Now I hope that _you_ understand _your_ situation here.  You are not my father, my guardian, or my headmaster.  You are not my protector or my jailor.  What we are at the moment, is allies.  Nothing more.  We both want to see Voldemort dead.  You’ve offered to supply me with tutors as I can no longer attend school and I have offered you the use of my very convenient house in exchange.  You have no more right to tell me when and how I may come and go than I have to tell you the same.

“My age became a moot point as soon as I became a fugitive.  I absolutely refuse to lock myself away in this house all the time.  I take precautions when I leave.  I wear glamors and I only go into the muggle world, which has no means with which to _detect_ glamors.”

Dumbledore nodded gravely, looking not a little annoyed.  “Well, I believe I can see the reason for which you’ve chosen to risk your life this way,” he said, looking pointedly at Harry’s neck, where he didn’t doubt there were a few love bites.  Tonight’s lover had been rather… exuberant with the love bites.

Harry gave a bland smile in return.  “I’m a sixteen-year-old fugitive on the run from my own corrupt government as well as an extremely dangerous dark lord and his followers.  I may not live to see seventeen or I might spend the rest of my birthdays in some cold, dark cell.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I’m not going to waste what may be the rest of my very short life.  I’m not being stupid, but I think being able to enjoy my life _just a little bit_ is worth the risk.  And frankly, sir, I don’t give a damn if you disagree with me. 

“Now, I’m exhausted.  I’m going to bed.”

Harry left the room without turning his back to the old man and didn’t relax until he’d locked the door of his suite behind him.  Merlin, he hated having Dumbledore and his loyal sycophants here whenever they pleased, but the old man had offered him tutoring.  Harry hadn’t been able to pass that up.  He was good at teaching himself things, but he would learn much faster with tutors and given the way his life seemed to go, he was sure his life would probably depend on those skills sooner rather than later.

That didn’t mean that he trusted any of them.  Well, except Snape.  Dumbledore’s spy, the man may be, but Harry had gleaned enough during their occlumency sessions to know that Snape considered himself on his own side and merely allied with Dumbledore toward a common goal, which is how Harry had decided to regard himself since he’d become a fugitive.  He didn’t like Dumbledore and he didn’t trust him, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t work together to bring down Voldemort.  It was highly unlikely that any of them were going to manage it alone, after all.

He just had to remember to keep his wits about him lest he get caught in Dumbledore’s webs and find himself a puppet dancing to the old man’s tune once more.

* * *

 

It was that evening, as Harry was getting ready to go out again, that he once more found Dumbledore summoning him.

Masking his wariness with annoyance, Harry entered the drawing room in which the old man waited.  His frown deepened at the sight of the pensieve situated in the middle of the table.

“What you said yesterday made me realize something.  This is something I, perhaps, should have done sooner, but you made a valid argument.  You are not a child anymore.  Perhaps I should have done it six years ago when you first arrived at Hogwarts.”  His eyes unfocused slightly as he remembered.  “You were safe and whole.  As I had intended.  Well, maybe not completely whole.  You had suffered.  As I knew that you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle’s doorstep.  I knew that I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years.”

Harry sneered expressively, pure hatred bubbling up in him, superior even to that which he’d felt for Umbridge while she’d gleefully watched him maim himself.  “I will never forgive you for that,” he stated flatly, and it was the truth.  The man had deliberately left him with people that he knew would make his life hell.  “Ten years of sleeping in a boot cupboard.  Ten years of being called a freak.  Being called a worthless burden who should have died with my parents by the only parental figures I could ever remember having.  They _drilled_ it into my head that I was _nothing_.  That they’d have been happy if I was dead.  They worked me to exhaustion, then locked me in a small, dark place without food and left me there until they had a use for me again.  Do you think that’s something that you just get over?  That I’d discover the wizarding world and make friends and suddenly an entire _lifetime_ of abuse would just go away?”  He clenched his jaw shut and turned his eyes to the floor.  He couldn’t bear to look at the old man’s pitying expression.  He couldn’t go on or he’d lose it completely and try to curse the bastard.  He yanked up his occlumency shields with an extreme effort.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said quietly, his voice choked with sadness and regret.  “In my own defense, I can only say that my priority was to keep you alive.  You were in more danger than perhaps anyone but myself realized.  Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters – and many of them were almost as terrible as he – were still at large, angry, desperate, and violent.  And I had to make my decision too with regard to the years ahead.  Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever?  No.  I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty, or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.

“I knew that Voldemort’s knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive.  I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

“But I knew too where Voldemort was weak.  And so I made my decision.  You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated – to his cost.  I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you.  She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day.  I put my trust, therefore, in your mother’s blood.  I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.”

“I’m confused,” Harry glared.  “You’re saying that Voldemort doesn’t understand sacrificial blood magic?  Seems right up his alley.”

“Unwilling sacrifices, perhaps,” Dumbledore acknowledged.  “What your mother did was willingly sacrifice her life out of her love for you.  That is a very different magic, indeed.”

“Even if all that is true,” Harry allowed, because he really wasn’t stupid enough to believe that the old man couldn’t be lying his arse off, “it doesn’t change how I feel.  I was a child.  The first lessons I ever remember learning involved pain, fear, and loneliness.  The fact that it kept me alive is not much consolation given how many times I wished that I could have died with my parents.  If you’d truly had mercy, Dumbledore, you’d have taken my life instead of leaving me on that doorstep.”

A long moment of silence followed, in which Harry again averted his gaze and tried counting in his head to help him to calm down enough for his occlumency to more effectively clear his mind.

“You said that you had something to tell me,” Harry reminded him when he felt calmed enough.  “Is your plan to sit there all night and explain to me how you’ve fucked my life over repeatedly?  Because, I gotta say, I’ve got better things to do.”

“Five years ago, then,” Dumbledore rallied after a moment.  “You arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well-nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy.  You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances.  Thus far, my plan was working well.”

“Your plan?” Harry sneered.  “And what was that, exactly?  No, don’t tell me.  You sent me into an abusive home so that I could grow up tough, used to hard work and pain, yet with such non-existent self-esteem that I would willingly and repeatedly throw myself into suicidal situations?  The Dursleys made sure that I had so little self-worth that I would be willing to give my life for almost anyone, because surely they are all more deserving of life than me.”  These were the issues that Harry had begun to discover about himself in fourth year, after realizing how the Dursleys’ crap had influenced his ability to learn for so long.

“You really think so little of me?” Dumbledore asked, looking hurt and shocked.

“Kind of hard to think anything else,” Harry glared in return, “given the way you tested me year after year.  And don’t bother trying to deny it.  I know it probably wasn’t all your plans, but you sure didn’t do anything to protect me, did you?  Like with the Tournament?”  A cold wave of nausea swept through him at the reminder of his week after the Third Task.  “I was entered into that tournament because Voldemort wanted me to be.  I was forced to _remain_ there because of _you_.  Did it truly never occur to you that I might be proactive enough to send for a copy of the Triwizard Tournament Rules, Regulations, and Amendments of 1994?  Were you so sure that I wouldn’t discover that you were part of the committee that wrote the amendment to insure that no underage student could be forced to compete?  Yeah.  I figured it all out.  Not in time to help me.  You could have helped though.  All you’d have had to do is tell me that it was my right to recuse myself.

“You didn’t.  It’s _your fault_ that I was captured – that I was held prisoner there for a week.  That is on you.”

There was another long moment of silence before Dumbledore tapped his wand lightly on the rim of the pensieve.  “You need to see this, Harry,” he said quietly.  “I should have shown it to you sooner, but I did not.  Another in what is clearly a very long line of mistakes I have made where you are concerned.”

“And you wonder why I have no faith in you to keep me safe?” Harry asked rhetorically.

Dumbledore ignored the comment.  “On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog’s Head Inn, I heard a prophecy,” he said quietly, his focus on the silvery memory floating in the pensieve.  “I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher, though it was against my inclination to allow the subject of Divination to continue at all.  The applicant, however, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her.  I was disappointed.  It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself.  I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post.  I turned to leave.”

Dumbledore touched the tip of his wand to the memory and prodded it gently.

A figure rose up out of it.  A familiar figure.  Trelawney, in fact, albeit a considerably younger Trelawney.  Her face and inflection were exactly the same as the prophecy that Harry had seen her give in third year just before Wormtail escaped.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…  The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”_

The room fell into silence again as the figure sank back down into the pensieve and Dumbledore gave Harry time to process what he’d heard.

_Either must die at the hand of the other_.  That, Harry supposed was the key to his entire life.  “So this is what you’ve been grooming me for,” he said quietly.  “Suddenly, my whole life makes sense.”  His almost wistful, bitter smile faded abruptly.  “No, wait.  It doesn’t.  If I’m supposed to kill Voldemort, why haven’t you been training me properly?  Why the games and manipulations?  Why not give me extra lessons or even send me to some special training when I was like five?”

Dumbledore sighed his tired, sad sort of sigh and his shoulders sagged, making him look old and frail.  Harry wondered if it was supposed to make Harry feel bad for him or something.  “I didn’t want to take away your childhood, Harry,” he said, looking almost desperate for Harry to understand that it had been all for his own good.

Harry just rolled his eyes, his occlumency shields succeeding in keeping his temper at bay this time.  “If that’s true, then you’re an idiot.  You can’t just erase a lifetime of abuse by letting me play Quidditch and slack off my lessons in between fighting for my life.  That’s the most asinine thing I’ve heard you say yet.”

Dumbledore sighed sadly and spread his hands helplessly before him.  “I wish that there was another answer I could give you, my boy.  It was an old man’s mistake to not realize how badly they would hurt you.  To think that I could ever make it right.”

“Whatever,” Harry dismissed impatiently.  He wouldn’t be able to hold his temper for long if he had to keep listening to the old bastard trying to justify himself.  Like anything could make right what he’d done.  “Whether or not this prophecy is true doesn’t matter much to me.  Obviously Voldemort isn’t going to stop trying to kill me while he’s alive.  He’s made that very clear.  It’s therefore in my best interests to kill him.  I assume that this ‘prophecy’ doesn’t mean you’re going to expect me to do everything now that I’m sixteen years old and lacking any real training – thanks for that, by the way.  You and your Order are still planning to _help_ right?”

“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore agreed, and now he just sounded tired and slightly exasperated.

“Brilliant,” Harry frowned.  “If you think I’m going to kill Voldemort, then I’m going to need _real_ training.  Auror style training or better, not a continuation of DADA.”

“We can do that,” Dumbledore nodded.

“Good.  We’ll talk about it more tomorrow.  I _was_ on my way somewhere before this lovely little chat.”

He left swiftly, without turning his back to the old man. 

One of the first things Harry had done after recovering from his stay in Azkaban was figure out how to cast a good glamor.  He refused to rot away in this old house like Sirius had done.  He hadn’t escaped to make himself a prisoner again, even if the accommodations were infinitely better.

After making a couple trips into the muggle world under glamor, Harry had returned to the Black Library and figured out how to transfigure a muggle I.D. card.  Admittedly, he’d had to “borrow” some muggle’s wallet to figure out exactly what the I.D. was supposed to look like, but he’d sent the wallet back to the rightful owner when he was done with it.

That identification had allowed him to get into pubs and clubs.  Pubs and clubs were where he found people willing to take him back to their homes and let him work off some frustration the fun way before he bid them a polite farewell and returned to Grimmauld.  He never slept in a stranger’s home.  He didn’t care how tired he was, he’d have to literally pass out, and he never drank that much.  Dumbledore was worried about him, but he had no idea how paranoid Harry was.  He wouldn’t be caught easily, that’s for sure.

And now, after spending all that time with Dumbledore, Harry’s need to burn off frustration had just increased exponentially.

* * *

 

**17 November 1996**

Harry winced as he rolled his aching shoulder.  Apparently, reaching the books on the higher shelves should be done with his left arm today.  He did just that and made his way back to the chair by the fire where he’d taken to doing most of his reading in the library.  He had a slight limp, but it wasn’t anything more than a little pain.  Kingsley had been vicious in his dueling lesson yesterday.  Not that Harry was about to complain.  It was exactly what he wanted from his tutors.  He didn’t have ten years to learn this stuff.  He needed them pushing him as hard as he pushed himself or harder.

With Harry’s approval, the Order had converted some of the cells and a couple torture chambers in the dungeons below Grimmauld into a proper dueling room for his lessons.  Assuming that he survived the war, he figured a dueling room would get a lot more use than torture chambers, anyway, so it was a good investment.  All of his tutors assigned him reading between lessons, and he’d be verbally quizzed on it at the next one.  He’d gotten very fast at reading over the last few years, so he didn’t find it difficult to keep up with.  In his spare time, Harry delved into the Black Library as he’d done in Slytherin’s Library at Hogwarts.  He studied anything that struck him as interesting or useful.

Today’s book was an ancient thing held together with preservation charms.  The title was simply, _Time_.  It had reminded Harry of his fourth year and how fascinating he’d found temporal magic.  He’d begun researching it because of the time-turners.  He’d wanted to know how many of the rules for using them were based off magical safety and how many of them were arbitrary.  The more he’d read though, the more interested he’d become.

Fifth year, unfortunately, had mostly put a stop to that research.  With the introduction of Umbridge and everything else that had been going on last year, he’d turned his focus more to Dark Magic and Defense.

He’d barely made it through the introduction of the book when he put it down to search out some parchment and a quill to make notes.

Several hours later, he sat back with a sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly.  This book was exceptional.  He’d only ever read about time magic as enchantments and rituals before, but this book discussed _spells_ utilizing time magic.  Most of them were fairly long spells or brief chants, but he was still incredibly intrigued by the possibility of manipulating time with nothing more than one’s own magic.  None of the runes, potions, and other components involved in enchantments and rituals.

He flinched a bit when the door abruptly swung open, his hand reaching for the wand tucked into his sleeve – the sheath had been purchased for him by Kingsley after the man had realized he didn’t have one during their first dueling lesson.  His eyes darted up just as his fingers closed around his wand and he immediately relaxed when he identified the potions master.

“Potter,” Snape frowned at him, eyeing the book and pages of notes briefly before focusing on him again.  “Shacklebolt is otherwise occupied today.  I will be providing your lesson, and now is convenient for me, so let’s go.”

Harry smiled slightly at the man’s brusque order, but didn’t hesitate to get up.  He cast a quick obscuring ward on the parchment he’d marked and then another ward to alert him if the first suffered any form of tampering.  None of it was really sensitive, but he didn’t care to think Dumbledore was figuratively reading over his shoulder all the time.  The ward wasn’t strong enough to keep out most of the Order if they were determined, Harry was sure, as it was a relatively simple spell, but it was enough to know if someone was snooping and whom it was.

When he looked back toward the door, Snape was eyeing him curiously, but the man didn’t comment before turning to lead the way down to the dueling room.

Two hours later, Harry was trembling from head to toe with exhaustion and in pure reaction to how much magic he’d funneled through his body.  Snape was an incredible dueling instructor.  He was harsh and merciless, and he pushed Harry to his limits and then unapologetically shoved him passed them.  As he did when teaching potions, he gave a minimal amount of instruction and expected his pupil to be smart enough to figure it out.  Luckily for Harry, this was dueling and not potions.  He was good at this and he’d done a ton of reading on the subject, so it wasn’t difficult for him to understand new concepts.

Snape was infinitely superior to Kingsley because he didn’t stop every time Harry got hurt.  He just kept pushing him harder, forcing Harry to function through the pain the way a real battle scenario would demand.

“Enough,” Snape finally called and Harry’s body reacted without a conscious decision, collapsing where he stood.

Rolling onto his back with considerable effort, Harry closed his eyes and focused on calming his breathing, letting his extremities tremble as they would.

“Adequate, Potter,” he heard Snape announce as the man drew closer to him.

Harry cracked open an eye to look up at the blurry man above him.  Snape had stolen his glasses hours ago with a well-executed summoning charm, then forced him to function without them.

The man pointed his wand at him and Harry’s wand had twitched, though he didn’t try to move to defend himself.  He trusted that Snape wouldn’t curse him like this, after calling an end to the lesson.

He blinked when his shirt and trousers were spelled away, leaving him in just his boxers and shoes, but he wasn’t left to wonder long when he heard his tutor incant a diagnostic charm followed by a string of healing spells that had the various cuts and scrapes he’d accrued sealing themselves up and his worst bruises fading.  A brief levitation spell turned him over and Harry grumbled about being able to move without help while Snape ignored him and healed the worst of his injuries on his back.

“You can turn back now, Potter,” Snape said eventually and Harry hurried to comply before he was subjected to another levitation.  He didn’t much care for how helpless it made him feel, even if only for a few seconds.  Snape lowered himself to one knee then, and presented Harry with a potion.  “Revitalizer,” he explained.  “It will help with the shaking.”

Harry closed one shaking hand around it and swallowed it down, sighing at the almost instant relief that began soaking into his trembling muscles, giving them some strength again.

“Healing potion,” he said next, handing him another vial, which Harry didn’t hesitate to swallow down.  Though Snape had healed the more serious damage, the potion would clear up the rest of the bruising and scrapes and heal his abused muscles and joints, preventing him from being in agony tomorrow.

“Those potions require energy to function, Potter, and they’ll take it from you.  Eat a large supper and get at least ten hours of sleep, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded tiredly.  The sleep sounded better than the supper and he’d love to just skip it, but if he knew Snape, he suspected the man wouldn’t appreciate that.  The last thing he wanted was to annoy the man to the point that he wouldn’t be eager to do this again.  Training like this would keep him alive the next time he found himself in trouble.

* * *

 

**19 December 1996**

Harry approached his room cautiously, seeing the light shining beneath the door.  He knew he hadn’t left any candles burning and Kreacher never lit them when he was out.  Someone had been in his room…

Taking a deep, silent breath, Harry extended his magic wandlessly as he’d been practicing with the aurors that tutored him.  Apparently, it was a skill they learned during auror training.  They used it to search areas ahead of themselves to detect any hostile magic before they walked into it.  It also functioned to locate the presence of any magical person or creature.

It took him a moment to recognize the magical signature that he felt inside because it wasn’t one he’d ever felt in this particular manner, but he _did_ know it.  A smile stretched his face as he relaxed and pushed open the door.  He smiled softly at the sight of Hermione curled up asleep on his bed, a single candle burning on the bedside table.

He closed the door quietly and waved his wand to lift the usual array of privacy and security wards, then sheathed his wand and moved to sit next to the sleeping girl.  He brushed a stray curl from his face and she stirred with a quiet hum before her eyes opened.

She blinked at him, then her eyes snapped open and she sat fully upright to wrap her arms securely around him and bury her face in his neck.

“I’ve missed you, too, Hermione,” he chuckled.

“Missed me!?” she demanded, leaning away from him and giving him a light shove against one shoulder.  “You’ve missed me, have you?  How do you think I’ve felt?  How am I supposed to handle my best friend being sentenced to life in Azkaban?!  How am…” her brow furrowed as her rant derailed.  “You smell like alcohol and sweat and… sex.”

Harry lifted the front of his shirt to his nose and gave it a sniff, immediately cringing.  “Merlin, I do.  In my defense, I was on my way to the shower before I found you sleeping in my bed, Goldilocks.  I didn’t think you’d even be here until tomorrow.  What happened?”

She blinked, then glared.  “Oh, no.  You do not get to smell like alcohol and sex and answer no questions about that fact.  Are you seeing someone?  Is it someone in the Order?”

Harry sighed, but he hadn’t quite expected her to allow the change of subject.  “No, I’m not seeing anyone.  Now, before you yell at me, let me just say that I’m taking all applicable precautions.”

“That’s good,” she frowned, “now tell me the rest so that I can yell at you.”

He smiled a little.  “I wasn’t going to become a prisoner in this house, Hermione.  I’ve been going out, usually in the evenings.  Muggle clubs, mostly.”  She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, but he answered her query before she could state it.  “I made myself a fake I.D.,” he shrugged. 

“Are you…” she paused, looking somewhat uncomfortable before pressing forward, “Are you sleeping with random strangers, then?” she asked warily.

He gave a simple nod.  “Look, we both know that a relationship would be a million kinds of impractical for me right now.  I have little interest in practicing abstinence until the war is over when there is every chance that I won’t live that long.”

She huffed unhappily, but didn’t try to refute that claim.

“I know you don’t like to hear it, but it’s true,” Harry admitted neutrally.  “So I’m living a little while I can.  I _am_ being careful, though.  I never go out without glamors _and_ my wand, I choose my partners carefully, making certain they’re muggles, and I always wear a condom.”

She grimaced faintly at that last bit, a faint blush touching her cheeks and he smiled a little at her innocence.  She wanted to wait until she could lose her virginity to someone special, and he could respect that.  It wasn’t a view that he shared, but he wasn’t going to judge her for not being as big a slut as him.

“I _want_ to yell at you,” she admitted after a minute, “but I can’t quite manage it.  If anyone deserves some happiness, it’s you, and if this makes you happy…” she shrugged helplessly.

“It does,” Harry shrugged.  “Well, happy might be a bit of a stretch, but it does help to keep me sane.  Otherwise all I do here is study and train.  It’s great!” he added quickly.  “I mean, it’s exactly what I want to be doing.  But I need a chance to unwind.”

Hermione shook her head sadly, “Honestly, I wish you could find a safer way to unwind, but I understand.”

“‘Course you do,” Harry smirked at her.  “That’s why you’re my best friend!  I seriously do have to take a shower, as you’ve smelled, but hang out here.  We can talk some more when I get out.  We could really freak Mrs. Weasley out and you could stay the night here with me,” he teased.

“Harry!” she scolded, though it wasn’t greatly effective when she was smiling.  She shook her head as he grabbed a robe.  “It’s nearly three in the morning, Harry.  We can talk in the morning.  I’m going to bed in my own bed.”

“Spoilsport,” he mock-frowned as he let himself into the massive ensuite that came with the master bedroom.

* * *

“Harry!  There you are,” Hermione announced exasperatedly as she entered the library where Harry was working.  “Why weren’t you down for breakfast?”

“Kreacher brings my breakfast upstairs for me,” he answered with a small glance up from the books and parchments spread around him.

“Why?” she sounded bewildered as she sat down across the table from him.

Harry cast a brief glance at the door to be certain they were alone, then waved his hand with a silent, wandless spell to close it.

Hermione looked impressed by the wandless spell, but didn’t let herself become distracted from her question, staring at him impatiently.

“Honestly, I’m avoiding Mrs. Weasley.”

“Why?” she asked again, and this time she just looked confused.

Harry huffed a short, annoyed breath as he sat back, accepting that he wasn’t going to be getting anything done until Hermione’s curiosity was satisfied.  “Surely you’ve noticed the fact that she takes it upon herself to mother everyone around her, even those older than herself.”

Hermione nodded slowly, her brow furrowed as she thought about it.

“Well, I’m an orphan and an escaped fugitive.  She would love nothing more than to wrap me in cotton wool and hide me away from the world forever.  She hates it that I’m being trained to fight and kill.  She hates that I have no parental figure here telling me when to sleep and what to eat and tucking me in at night and whatever else she thinks I ‘deserve’.  If it was up to her, I would be a perfectly innocent and naïve child right up until Voldemort or the Ministry killed me, and she cannot see anything wrong with that philosophy.  So, yes, I spend a great deal of time here avoiding her, because whenever I’m within sight, she spends all her time worriedly lecturing me on everything she thinks I’m doing wrong and alternately getting into shouting matches with every other adult in sight who doesn’t completely agree with her on the way I should be ‘raised’.  As though there’s any childhood left in me at this point,” he grumbled that last bit to himself.

Hermione was silent a moment before she heaved a tired sigh.  “I see what you mean,” she relented.  “You know that she only means well, right?”

Harry’s face darkened at that comment.  “Yeah, well I’m right quit of the good intentions of well-meaning adults.  My whole life is like a running joke, and that right there is the punch line.”

A long moment of silence followed the bitter statement before Hermione asked brightly, “So, what are you working on?”

Harry managed a tiny smile at the question.  A few years ago, Hermione wouldn’t have known when to drop a subject.  She’d have kept gnawing on it until he ended up shouting at her.  She was starting to grow up, too.  It made him wonder what Hogwarts had been like for her with only Luna as a close friend.  Or maybe she’d made more friends in his absence.  Who knew?

“Temporal theory,” he admitted.

“And spellcrafting,” she observed curiously, recognizing one of the books. 

“I found a book that contains temporal spells,” he admitted, gesturing toward the book in question.

Her brow rose sharply, “Time manipulation through _spells_?  Alone?”

Harry’s smile twitched a bit bigger as they settled into the familiar and comfortable territory of discussing magical theory.  It was good to talk to her again.  He’d gotten a little too accustomed to his only human interaction being during his lessons or with random strangers as they used each other for mutual sexual gratification.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing is starting to slow down now. Jumps will more often be days or a week or two instead of months.


End file.
